


It's not the formless being nor the cry in the air

by Sour_grape_Snape



Series: Albion's Darkest Hour [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magical Creature rights, Merlin is a Little Shit, and get his Arthur back, dude is old yo, he just wants to protect his 400 children, he's too done for this shit, merlin won't allow this slander of Salazar's legacy, merlin/hp crossover, pro slytherin, someone give Merlin a hug, teacher!merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_grape_Snape/pseuds/Sour_grape_Snape
Summary: Then, without warning, the world tipped. The pressure of the cave rose to painful levels and Merlin’s ears popped. Ragnok’s robes billowed around him and his eyes glazed over. A great, terrible light filled the space around Merlin, and he had to close his eyes to avoid damage. When he opened them, Enoch was frozen in shock as he watched Ragnok approach Merlin, his eyes filled with gold. Merlin could only assume that his own eyes mirrored them.Ragnok placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a deep, unnatural voice.“Albion’s darkest hour approaches; the great scale has been tipped, the balance upset. History repeats itself as the Once and Future King rises once more. Protect the boy. Fail, and witness magic’s destruction. Fail, and all shall be lost.”The presence faded and Merlin felt himself explode.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Salazar Slytherin, and a bunch of others tbh I can't keep track
Series: Albion's Darkest Hour [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616524
Comments: 84
Kudos: 403





	1. In Which Merlin Gets a Little Visit From a Goddess

It had been a very long time since Merlin had last sat foot in Diagon Alley. If he had to guess he’d say about five centuries – not that it really mattered. Time was different for him, eternal yet passing in the blink of an eye, five centuries was nothing to him. It looked almost nothing like it did last time; it was much larger, filled with people and other magical beings. Though he did think he recognized one small building that looked rather dusty, “Ollivanders”. He was almost tempted to go inside, but he didn’t have need for a wand. In fact, a wand was the one thing he didn’t have to buy off the list. He had to admit he was a little baffled when along with a job confirmation he’d gotten a list of materials from Headmaster Dumbledore.

I mean, what teacher is required to bring a pet? Seriously? But the rest of his plan had gone smoothly, so he figured he’d just put up with it. Part of him had been slightly nervous that Dumbledore would somehow figure out that “Magorian Emerson” was a fake identity or that someone else would snatch the job from him. But he seemingly hadn’t noticed anything strange and gave him the position of professor for History of Magic. The fact that the ghost that used to teach it conveniently disappeared a few days prior to Merlin’s inquiry was, of course, completely coincidental. 

History wasn’t necessarily his first choice, but it had been the only easily vacated post and anyways, teaching wasn’t really his main goal. He’d woken abruptly one morning in July with the certainty that he finally had to return to Hogwarts. He could feel the Old Religion urging him to protect the school and keep the balance. So, he simply got up, wrote a letter to the Headmaster, added some more or less legitimate qualifications and grades and whistled to gain the attention of the nearest owl. 

“Magorian Emerson” was a French, 26-year-old Beauxbatons graduate. First, he’d considered saying he was homeschooled, but he was old friends with the former headmaster of Beauxbatons. It would seem less suspicious to say he’d gone there, and he knew that if he wrote to Matthieu that he’d cover for him. Magorian Emerson had been a dedicated student with good grades but was otherwise fairly quiet and unremarkable. He also didn’t have a permanent residence, since he’d decided to travel the world to learn and gain his masteries in Defense, Potions and History of Magic. He was muggleborn and didn’t have any living relatives. A completely ordinary individual; no illnesses or conditions and definitely not with a knack for rule breaking and reckless behavior. Not him, nope. 

Magorian was simply a fresh and invigorated young soul looking for a start to his long dreamed of teaching career. 

Merlin wanted to snort with derision. He could only imagine what Arthur and Salazar would say if they read that description. Arthur would probably shove him and call him an idiot, all the while questioning his choices. Salazar would simply tilt an amused eyebrow at him that conveyed you really think you can pretend you’re not a reckless troublemaker?

He smiled slightly at the thought and twirled his wand in his hands. It was absolutely beautiful; about 14 inches, its wood red, gold and rich brown. It was carved to look like two vines that intertwined to form a thick spiral. Whomping Willow from the Isle of the Blessed with a scale of the great dragon Killgarah as its core. It was a gift and thus one of his greatest treasures. 

Magorian, as he probably should think of himself now, quietly watched the hustle and bustle of the street and inhaled deeply. Part of him had longed for this feeling for a long time – being once again surrounded by the feel of magic. It might not be quite like his, but it was familiar enough that his magic seemed to swell inside of him, bursting to be let out. Sadly, he couldn’t do that just yet. He knew he couldn’t perform any serious bits of magic in such a public area, he was supposed to stay inconspicuous. Magorian was a non-threatening, endearingly naïve wizard of unremarkable strength. This pretense was key, because if he was to rid the school of any inside threats, he couldn’t be suspected. 

He looked up at his destination and fought off an eye-twitch at how crooked the building was. Gringotts wizarding bank. He had never actually been here before; his vault had simply been transferred to London once it became magical Britain’s main branch. His original vault had been in Din Eidyn – modern day Edinburgh – before being moved in the 11th century. He’d always had good relations with the Green Folk, they were creatures of Old Magic similar to him, even if modern day goblins were more of a hybrid in terms of magic. 

He walked towards the entrance at a swift pace, nearly running into a dark-skinned girl with bushy hair who apologized profusely. He threw an apologetic smile over his shoulder and grabbed the door before it could close again. 

His eyes took a minute to adjust to the slight dimness. He was standing in a large, rather obstinate hall. The floor was made of shining white marble that made his every step echo slightly. Everything was bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly different shades of red and blue. When he glanced up, he realized why; the bank had a domed roof with very intricate stained-glass panels that cast colored rays of light softly across the room. Merlin felt an ache inside of him at the sight, it reminded him of times long gone.

To his sides, elegant wooden counters formed a corridor of sorts. At each counter sat a goblin, all of them busy with one thing or another. Some he saw authenticating different jewels, others were vigorously processing paperwork. His magic flared slightly at the faint presence of old magic. Some of the goblins seemed to become a little distracted at his presence, their eyes glazing over slightly or their heads cocking as if listening intently for something. He suspected that they could sense him at some level, but he didn’t know if any of them knew what it was they were sensing. Their magic reached unconsciously towards his and Merlin almost stopped breathing at the intensity. Everyone’s magic was slightly different, reminiscent of world around them. Goblin’s usually tended to have warmer impressions than him. A magic reminiscent of fire and warmth and the sun. He could feel gentle sunbeams, crackling fires and white-hot furnaces. His own, rather icy magic didn’t shrink from it, but rather invigorated actually. It was a meeting of the elements, of the earth’s magics. Merlin relished the feeling for a moment before forcing himself to snap out of it.

The room was largely empty of customers, so Merlin internally shrugged and walked straight ahead to the goblin at the end of the corridor. When he caught sight of Merlin, his gaze sharpened slightly. His dark, intelligent eyes bore into him and a curious expression settled over his face. He seemed older than most of his peers, carrying an authority of sorts. His magic gave the impression of a deep, glowing hearth. A comfortable warmth spread through Merlin.

When he reached the counter, he put his hands together into a diamond like shape and inclined his head slightly. The goblin seemed a little shocked, if pleased at his proper greeting. He greeted Merlin back and regarded him. “My name is Enoch, elder of the southern clan. Am I correct in assuming who you are?”

Merlin smiled slightly, a strange feeling coming over him at Enoch’s knowing look.

“I am, though I think we should probably discuss that matter more privately.”

“Of course, let me take you to our private offices. There’s someone who has been waiting for you,” Enoch said, stepping down from the counter and gesturing for Merlin to follow him through the door behind it. 

He could feel the other Goblins’ eyes on him now. It must not be an everyday occurrence that someone is taken past the main room. His heart was trying to beat out of his chest. Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was glad or terrified that someone had recognized him after nearly a thousand years. 

The door Enoch led him through led into a wide hallway, this time lit with artificial light. Doors lined the walls on his sides, symbols and words explaining their function or naming their owner in the modern goblin dialect. Enoch’s was the last door on the right wall, the one opposite of it belonged to “Giffard, elder of the northern clan” The very last door in between the two was labeled “King Ragnok of the Green Folk”. 

Merlin’s heart stuttered slightly when Enoch led him towards it. Even though he had been at many courts throughout his life and was technically magical royalty himself, the part of him that would forever remain the poor boy from Ealdor couldn’t quite believe what was about to happen. He’d never met a sovereign of the Green Folk before, even in the days of Camelot he’d always dealt with individual clans.

To a human the King’s office would look like nothing special, primitive even. But if you knew the ways of the Goblins you knew that this was the most honored of spaces. It looked like the inside of a cave, nothing at all like the obstinate outside halls with their marble floors and chandeliers. The walls and floor were roughhewn from dark stone interspersed with the glint of different gems and metals. He could make out some silver and gold glinting in streaks throughout the walls, some aragonite and selenite. The lighting was provided by a line of purple and blue crystals that hung from the ceiling, the spiritual colors of the goblins. In the center of the room was a large stone table, round as it had been in Camelot. 

Behind it, built into the wall was a small altar to the Triple Goddess, littered with different types of smooth stones and magical blossoms. Cross legged on the floor in front of it sat the Goblin King. He looked even older than Enoch, with dark and wrinkled skin. His hair was a mix of grey and white and his black eyes shone with wisdom and cunning. He wore a black robe embroidered with swirling purple designs that were reminiscent of the Old Language. His magic felt beautiful, like a warm summer wind. It was a magic that truly belonged to the Old Religion. 

He regarded Merlin and then stood up, only to then bow before him. Merlin felt his face heat and his chest swell with slight panic. Here he was, standing in his shabbiest pair of wizarding robes, being bowed to by a king. The King righted himself and spoke in a strong, gravelly voice. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Emrys. Never would I have thought that I would meet you in this lifetime. I am Ragnok, King of the Green Folk and we are at your service.”

Merlin sputtered slightly in horror, at his service? He didn’t want anyone in his service, thank you very much! That was Arthur’s thing, not his. 

“The honor is mine, King Ragnok. Before I get into the reason for my visit, I’d just like to ask; how did you know? I’m going…undercover…for a while and might need to place certain enchantments to keep from being discovered.”

The old goblin smiled at him in amusement, as though he wanted to shake his head at Merlin in exasperation but was too polite. “How did I know, you ask? I knew, because I could feel it the moment you set foot in Diagon Alley. We are kin, you and I, and any being like us will be able to sense your presence, even if they might not know what it is they are sensing. As for concealing it – you might as well try to contain an ocean in a pickle jar. Your magic, it is so vast, so raw, it is akin to a mountain, a glacier, the tide. It is the magic of the universe itself.”

Merlin swallowed uncomfortably. He knew he was powerful, but sometimes it frightened him to think of exactly how powerful. He’d done things no living thing, be it magical or mundane, should be capable of. Sometimes he wondered whether he could even be considered human anymore. Maybe he’d left his humanity behind, along with half of his soul, the day Arthur died.  
Sometimes he spent hours staring at his hands, watching the magic pulsing in his veins and thinking of all the terrible things he’d done with them. In those moments more than any he truly felt the weight of each and every one of his years crushing him; liked to imagine his body slowly crumbling to dust. He wondered whether someone like him, someone who’d lived hundreds of lifetimes, would even be permitted to an afterlife or whether his ashes would simply be carried away by the wind. 

“But fear not, Emrys. Only those of us who are remnants of the Old Days, what wizards so kindly refer to as magical creatures, will be able to feel your presence. None of us would ever give you away if you don’t wish it. We answer to you and you alone,” Ragnok said seriously.  
Part of Merlin wondered whether he’d ever deserve the kind of faith and devotion Ragnok was displaying.

“So, there’s no one at Hogwarts who will risk my disguise?” Merlin asked, slightly relieved.

“Well, not quite. If my sources are correct, both the gamekeeper and the charms professor are of our kind. There are also common Brittonic elves…employed there. Though I doubt any one of them will truly know who you are.” 

Merlin nodded. Something about the way Ragnok had said “employed” bothered Merlin, but he could worry about that later. First, he’d have to come up with a reasonable explanation for the two staff members.

“...was it you came for?” Ragnok asked.

Merlin blinked. “Pardon?”

Ragnok raised his eyebrows slightly, amused.  
“I asked what it was you came for. As enlightening as this conversation has been, I’m assuming it’s not the only reason you’re here.”

“Er, yes, right. I wanted to access my vault. I don’t believe I’ve received the key for it yet,” Merlin explained.

“Enoch will take you to it. Anything else?” Ragnok asked, still smiling slightly.

“No- well- I suppose- “

“Yes?”

“Do you happen to have a Seer on hand?” Merlin asked lamely.

“I am a Seer of some skill. What is it you wish to know?”

“I know only that I need to be at Hogwarts, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what task the Old Religion has in store for me. Is there anything you could find out?” Merlin asked desperately.

It was one of the things he had the most difficulty with. Often the Triple Goddess would send him a feeling. Something that told him whether to interfere or not, whether to go or not. He’d spent no little amount of time teeming with frustration and resentment over it. She’d let him know that he had to stand by and do nothing while thousands died, but not why he was not permitted to help. She’d send him on some wild chase without telling him what he was supposed to be looking for. 

Movement in the corner of his eye snapped him into the present. Ragnok was making his way to the altar, where he took one of the magical blossoms and gently put it into a ceramic bowl filled with water. Its magic swirled gently through the water in small blue tendrils. When Merlin came to stand next to him, he closed his eyes and tapped the bowl’s rim three times with a long nail. The water’s surface changed and suddenly images bloomed on it. First, he saw a small, dingy room with bars on the windows. A thin little boy with dark skin and wild hair lay listlessly on the rickety mattress, a large beefy man seemingly shouting at him. Then he saw a wall smeared with blood, something was spelled out, but the image changed before Merlin could read it. He saw a man’s tired face, lined with silver scars. After that a young, pale boy with wide, frightened eyes. Then, in quick succession, a tree, a graveyard, a long black tiled hall, a half-frozen lake, the boy again, this time older and staring into one of the most horrible faces he’d ever seen and finally, Arthur, heaving a great breath. 

Merlin’s heart stopped. Blood roared in his ears as he stared at Arthur’s face as it disappeared. It couldn’t be. He refused to believe it. 1400 years he’d let himself be tricked over and over again into thinking he’d get his Arthur back, only to come out of it empty handed and feeling hollow every single time. 

Then, without warning, the world tipped. The pressure of the cave rose to painful levels and Merlin’s ears popped. Ragnok’s robes billowed around him and his eyes glazed over. A great, terrible light filled the space around Merlin, and he had to close his eyes to avoid damage. When he opened them, Enoch was frozen in shock as he watched Ragnok approach Merlin, his eyes filled with gold. Merlin could only assume that his own eyes mirrored them.

Ragnok placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a deep, unnatural voice. 

“Albion’s darkest hour approaches; the great scale has been tipped, the balance upset. History repeats itself as the Once and Future King rises once more. Protect the boy. Fail, and witness magic’s destruction. Fail, and all shall be lost.”

The presence faded and Merlin felt himself explode.


	2. The One Where Merlin Steals a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, whoops, I don’t think I caught your name. You are?” the man, Ellis asked.
> 
> “Charlie. Charlie Weasley.”
> 
> “Alright Charlie. It was nice to meet you, but I really must get going, I still have to draw up my teaching plan. Anyways, I’ll visit from time to time. Take good care of Feondrah, or I’ll reduce you to a dainty little grease spot, yes?” 
> 
> Charlie opened his mouth, sputtering slightly, but the man had already lost interest.

When Merlin woke, he was overwhelmed with confusion for a second. Then, the memory of what had happened hit him lick a ton of bricks. His breath hitched and he froze. He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. Panic rose in him like a great wave, threatening to sweep him away. Not again. Not this. Anything but this. Ghostly images flickered across the back of his eyelids; memories of what he’d woken to when something like this happened. The latest in particular turned his blood to ice.

The goddess had only visited Merlin directly 4, now 5, times. Her visits were unpredictable, but they always had one thing in common – what followed. He took a shaky breath and willed himself to open his eyes. 

But what he saw was the last thing he’d expected. Enoch was blinking blearily, taking in his surroundings in awe. Merlin followed his gaze and wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. All around them, the simple, roughhewn cave had been transformed. Impossibly, vibrant green grass grew out of the rock and flowering trees stretched their arms towards the cavern’s ceiling, interweaving with the stone, looking like they’d been there since the beginning of time.

Large amber eyes glinted at him from one of the branches. A great barn owl cocked its head at him and gave a soft hoot.

The smell of lavender and honeysuckle wafted through the air on a warm breeze and something inside Merlin ached with familiarity. Wildflowers of all hues grew in currents around them, swaying and rippling, tickling the exposed skin of Merlin’s ankles. A few bright blue butterflies were busily swarming between them. As he stretched a hand out towards them, a colorful little hummingbird zoomed past and came to rest on his shoulder. The light of the crystals was now joined by golden sparks that drifted merrily through the air, bathing everything in a warm glow. In one corner, a spring had popped up and was merrily trailing towards the altar. In the midst of all of this stood Merlin.

He glanced down and realized that Ragnok was still out. He panicked slightly and bent to his knees next to his peaceful form. For a small moment, Merlin was terrified that he’d killed the Goblin King. But then he relaxed slightly when he saw the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Enoch came to rest on the King’s other side. Merlin looked at him, silently asking for permission.

At Enoch’s nod, Merlin gently lowered his hands onto Ragnok's temples. He closed his eyes and reached out with a small tendril of his magic. Ragnok’s answered, but it was weak. He probed further and realized that Ragnok would be perfectly fine, he was simply worn out from the encounter.

He leaned back on his hands and swallowed thickly, fighting to keep the tears from his eyes. Enoch noticed this and threw him a questioning glance.

“It’s just that- I’ve never- This has never happened before. Usually, when I lose control like that, I… I leave destruction in my wake.”

His eyes seemed far away, his voice hollow.

“Last time, I… I levelled an entire city. There was fire and- there were screams and bodies everywhere and I couldn’t-“ his voice choked off into a sob.

“It is the burden of your power, Lord Emrys. It can create life and wonder, but it can also destroy and devastate. Come now, I will take you to your vault while the King recovers,” Enoch said.

Merlin blinked a few times to regain his composure and slowly stood. He glanced back once more, hungrily drinking in the sight of the life, the wonder that he had created. Then, with one last deep exhale, he turned and followed the goblin from the room.

* * *

Merlin couldn’t focus on anything; he was far too nauseous. Carts? Really? Whose brilliant idea was that? When Enoch had first told him to get into the hellish contraption, Merlin had assumed he was joking. He wasn’t. So, one dizzying, jerky ride later, Merlin stood before his vault, trying very hard to hold onto the contents of his stomach.

This was the most cave-like part of the vaults Merlin had seen so far. They’d gone all the way to the bottom of the bank. His vault door stood before him; a huge door of stone with a number “5” above it. He didn’t need to look to know who the first four vaults belonged to; it had been his friends after all who’d convinced him to let his vault be moved here.

Enoch seemed to be in a daze, like he was giddy at the aspect of finally getting to open this particular vault. He beckoned Merlin and pointed at a triskel that was carved into the stone next to his vault. Merlin hesitantly stretched his pale hand towards it before laying it flat on the symbol. It was cold at first, but then he felt a smell shockwave move through him and he nearly twitched in surprise. The symbol glowed gold and something about it felt awfully familiar. Then, the great stone door swung outward to permit his entrance.

It was a very plain room. Four walls, a ceiling, a floor and a few shelves lined against the walls. All of unremarkable stone material. A few dusty tomes sat on the shelves, along with a few glass jars that contained dried herbs that had probably long since gone extinct. In the middle of the room several trunks were piled neatly onto each other. The top one contained wizarding currency, rows upon rows of golden galleons, silver sickles and bronze knuts. Merlin took large handfuls and dumped them in his leather satchel.

Out of curiosity, he peaked into two of the other trunks. The first contained modern muggle currency, most of it paper, from all over the world. He gazed for a moment at all the different colors and motifs before shutting the lid once more. The third made his breath stutter slightly. It was the currency they’d used in Camelot. He ran his callused hands over many rough and lumpy iron pennies, momentarily entranced. This must be what he’d earned in Arthur’s service; he’d almost forgotten about it.

In fact, he was slightly surprised at the sheer amount of money that seemed to be in this vault. The only truly luxurious job he’d had was as Camelot’s servant and then Court Sorcerer. The rest of his time he’d spent mostly as a healer that only took the spare pennies that his patients willingly offered. Then again, he supposed after over a thousand years it would accumulate a bit.

The only other things in his vault were a line of magical artifacts that sat innocently on one of the shelves. Most of them probably had the power to level the entirety of magical Britain. Which was why Merlin would continue to horde them here, never uttering a single word to confirm their continued existence.

Part of him felt tempted to just stay and let himself be enveloped by memories for a while. Just get lost in one of his old tomes and think of his long gone home with Gaius and his mother. And Arthur. But he feared that he’d lose time again. After all the years he’d lived, it was hard for him to gauge time. Something that to him was the mere blink of an eye could be a decade in the real world. It was all too possible that he’d be happily spending his time reading in here, unaware of the fact that the boy and the school he was supposed to protect had long since fallen and Arthur’s reincarnated form long since withered away.

So, he turned decisively on his heel and walked out of the vault without a backwards glance. Enoch was waiting for him, long hands clasped in front of him.

“Is everything in order?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. I think my business here is finished,” Merlin replied.

* * *

He warily sat back down in the cart, this time only flinching slightly when it jerked and started its ascent. He looked around curiously during the ride, noting the different architectures and magical signatures. The place was filled with different protection and anti- illusion spells. Trying to break into this place would cause even Merlin a slight headache.

He was just admiring a waterfall laced with some sort of discovery spell when it hit him full force. He gasped and without really meaning to, his eyes flashed gold and stopped the cart in its tracks. Enoch turned to him in confusion, seemingly asking a question, but Merlin couldn’t hear him. The feeling of intense pain and long years of isolation spread through him explosively. The smell of fear overpowered his senses and a wild sort of desperation filled him. Inside his head he heard a pitiful moan. He shot up and whipped his head around, until at the very edge of his vision he spotted movement. There, locked in chains of cold iron, was a giant ice blue dragon.

How had he missed this before? The feeling of outrage was so intense that he was shaking. The dragon’s eyes were unseeing, and her wings had great holes carved into them, assuring that she’d have difficulty flying away. Lashes and burns, old and new, littered her weakened body. Merlin could taste blood.

He turned back to the Goblin, his voice laced with the great, terrible power of a dragon lord.

“How _dare_ you keep this creature chained here? How _dare_ you treat her in this way? You of all races, who should know what it is like to live imprisoned? You will free her at once!” his voice swelled and filled the caves, magic swirling all around him, waiting to protect his kin.

“M-my Lord! I am… I’m so sorry! Of course, I will free her at once- I did not know she was yours! I-“ Enoch scrambled.

“MINE? She is a free creature! She is my kin, as all dragons are, and thus under _my_ protection! If you ever dare to lay another hand on a dragon, you will face dire consequences! You would do well to remind your brothers of this. I will not be lenient in the future,” he said stonily, turning away from the goblin.

He exited the cart and swiftly made his way over to her, leaving Enoch behind, speechless. Up close, it was even worse. Merlin could feel the rage draining from him, turning instead into a deep, aching sadness. Tears pricked at his eyes as he approached her.

“Shhhh, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise no one will again.”

He sent his magic out to her, cooling waves of calmness rolling off of him. She cowered slightly, but remained still, waiting for him.

_My name is Merlin. You are my kin, and I have come to free you._

She couldn’t speak, not the way the Great Dragons could. She’d been chained for a long time and was nearly reduced to a wild animal. But nonetheless, she managed to return a garbled mess of feelings towards him; unease, relief, gratitude.

Merlin very carefully and very gently laid a hand on her snout and felt her magic thrumming beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Feondrah” he murmured.

At her whispered name, the tension drained from the dragoness and she too closed her eyes, letting out a warm puff of breath. 

Merlin took this opportunity to rest his forehead against hers, letting their magics become acquainted.

There was no way in hell he was leaving her here. But where to keep her? She would need round the clock care and a quiet place to recover. Merlin knew well the barbaric ways of modern wizards and knew she mustn’t be discovered. His only permanent residence was a small shack by the Lake of Avalon and the forest was hardly a good place for a dragon. Caves, warm, sunny climate and magical healing would be necessary for the first few weeks.

He would be leaving for Hogwarts in two weeks’ time, so he clearly needed to find someone to help with her care while he was occupied. Dragon reserves. That would do, wouldn’t it? And he could visit whenever his schedule permitted. Certainly, they wouldn’t mind one more, and if they did, Merlin could be very… persuasive.

He gave Feondrah another small caress along the snout, gave a fierce nod to Enoch, and let the whirlwinds take him away.

* * *

Charlie would like to think that he’d seen a lot of things over the years, working with incredibly dangerous magical creatures and all. But nothing had quite prepared him for the sight of a wizard and a fully-grown dragon appearing on, and crushing, the team’s outdoor breakfast pavilion just as he was taking a bite of scrambled egg.

He blinked at his empty fork mournfully for a second before intelligently blurting: “what- the- fuck?”

The wizard simply stepped off the wreckage that was once the breakfast table and held out his hand. Charlie stared for a few seconds before grasping it.

“Hi, my name’s Ellis. This is Feondrah, she’s badly hurt and in need of care. I need you to look after her for me.”

“I- what?” Charlie asked blankly.

The stranger scratched his head.

“This… this is the dragon reserve in Romania, right?” he asked awkwardly.

“Well, yes, it is,” Charlie answered.

“Ok, great. This transportation method is far from precise. Would’ve been pretty awkward if I’d shown up with a dragon somewhere else and asked a random stranger to take care of it, huh?”

“I… suppose.”

Charlie must be hallucinating, right? What guy just apparates himself and a dragon, an incredible feat of magic, by the way, into the middle of a random dragon reserve and just asks the first person he sees to take care of his dragon without even asking for a name? For all this stranger knew, Charlie could be the dishwasher.

“Oh, whoops, I don’t think I caught your name. You are?” the man, Ellis asked.

“Charlie. Charlie Weasley.”

“Alright Charlie. It was nice to meet you, but I really must get going, I still have to draw up my teaching plan. Anyways, I’ll visit from time to time. Take good care of Feondrah, or I’ll reduce you to a dainty little grease spot, yes?”

Charlie opened his mouth, sputtering slightly, but the man had already lost interest. He whispered quietly to the dragoness, gently caressed her neck and promptly disappeared, leaving only a small pile of galleons behind.

“What… what just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie this took a long ass time, sorry


	3. In Which Merlin Meets and Immediaely Despises Lockhart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin was eager at first to talk to someone else who was new to Hogwarts, but soon realized, after flipping through his books, that he seemed rather like a self-obsessed git. Most of the stories were clearly exaggeration, if not fully made up. 
> 
> He watched Lockhart smile charmingly at the middle-aged witches, suggesting autographs in rather inappropriate places and pointing out that he was “once again” on the cover of Witch Weekly. Merlin suppressed the urge to gag.

Merlin reappeared randomly in the midst of a store. It was fairly empty, so his entrance didn’t exactly go unnoticed. However, the few other patrons simply eyed him warily and continued on with their business.

He glanced around, trying to figure out where exactly he’d ended up.

This store had a slightly different atmosphere than was typical for Diagon Alley. It was rather lacking in hygiene, making it immediately obvious that this store sold some types of animal. It was dimly lit and rather cold, different cages hanging from the ceiling that creaked slightly from time to time. Honestly, it kind of gave Merlin the creeps.

Then again, the letter had said that he would need a pet, so he might as well get one here. An owl would probably be best for practicalities sake. He peered more closely at the cages, a slight rage simmering inside of him at the limited space.

His eyebrows arched in surprise when he noticed that the place turned out to sell only owls. But what they lacked in species variety, they made up for by the sheer amount of different breeds. Some of them he was pretty sure were illegal in wizarding Britain. Not that he cared much, he often thought the Ministry were rather ridiculous with their regulations.

Different colored eyes glowed at him from all directions and some rustled around in their cages to get a better look. He tended to have that effect on animals, a sort of intrinsic pull. Most animals rather liked him.

He stopped somewhere in the back corner when an owl gave him a low hoot from above. He glanced at it curiously and nearly started chuckling. It had large, feathered eyebrows that seemed perpetually raised in judgement. It rather reminded him of Gaius in one of his moods.

“A very good eye you have, Sir.” A voice said from behind Merlin.

He slowly turned around to look calmly at what he assumed was the shop owner. He had a rather shifty look about him. His eyebrows were just as feathery and wild as those of his owls, sticking in all directions. He was bald and his dark eyes had a rather cold glint to them. Merlin was immediately wary.

“Oh?” he asked neutrally.

“He’s a great horned owl, he is. Very fine breed, a bit grumpy, mind you.”

“That won’t be a problem. Does he have a name?”

The wizard looked at him as if he’d said something amusing.

“We don’t name the owls. We can’t go getting attached; besides, the new owners name them,” he said, eyeing Merlin strangely.

“Very well. How much for him? I also need a cage.”

“That would be five galleons, good sir,” the man replied, clearly trying to butter Merlin up.

Merlin knew it was a steep price, but he would rather end this interaction as quickly as possible. He felt rather like he needed a good long shower after this.

Wordlessly, he handed over the five galleons.

The man’s eyes lit up with glee, clearly not having expected Merlin’s lack of bartering. He waved his wand lazily and the owl along with its cage floated onto the counter. Merlin took the cage and paused for a moment.

“Always good to have new clients. I hope we’ll be seeing you again, sir.”

Merlin laid ten more galleons on the counter.

“You very much will, if you use this to buy larger cages.”

For a second, the man seemed insulted, but then his expression smoothed out ad he hungrily took the coins.

“I certainly will, sir. Good day.”

“Good day.”

Merlin walked swiftly from the store, suppressing a disgusted shiver. Ugh, so much slime.

He was met with more similarly shifty looking shops that lined both sides of the alley. It seemed he’d ended up in a side street instead of Diagon Alley proper.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we, Gaius?” he mumbled quietly. Gaius only blinked at him.

* * *

As he was walking down what he’d discovered was Knockturn Alley, he noticed a small commotion up ahead. A small circle of people had formed and were blocking the way. When he got closer, he noticed that they were circling a young boy. He turned and Merlin caught sight of his panic-stricken face. It was the boy! The boy from Ragnok’s vision!

Merlin shouldered is way through the crowd, “accidentally” shoving Gaius’s cage into a few legs.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. What did I say about running off on your own, huh?” Merlin asked loudly, slinging an arm casually over the boy’s shoulders.

He shot the boy a quick look: _just go along with it._

The crowd slowly dispersed and the few that lingered very suddenly felt the need to be far away from Merlin. He tugged the boy along, reaching Diagon Alley within a few short strides. Merlin withdrew his arm carefully.

“Sorry about that, but you seemed rather stuck back there,” Merlin said pleasantly.

“ _Thank you,”_ the boy breathed, relieved.

“No problem. My name is Magorian.”

“I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.”

Merlin finally took a good look at the boy. He had fairly dark skin and a wild tangle of black hair. His eyes were a piercing green behind his glasses and Merlin thought he could just see the edges of a scar creeping out from underneath his hair. He was just as scrawny as Merlin had been at that age, but then again, Merlin also had lived in poverty.

His glasses looked rather worse for wear; cracked and bent and seemingly taped together in the middle. He was also, interestingly enough, covered in soot.

“I know we just met, but I’m not exactly comfortable with you wandering about on your own. Are you meeting up with someone?” he asked Harry.

“Oh, bollocks! I’m meant to meet the Weasleys. I got lost. They’re probably worried, but I’m not sure where exactly they are…” he trailed off, slightly unsure.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to accompany you until you find your friends.”

Harry looked slightly relieved, “thanks.”

“Uhm, may I…?” Merlin asked, gesturing vaguely at the state of Harry’s clothes.

Harry blushed slightly, looking self-conscious.

“Oh, yeah. If it’s no hassle.”

Merlin remembered to take out his wand just in time, otherwise he would’ve accidentally done it windlessly and he didn’t really feel like doing any explaining right now.

He waved his wand silently and the dirt lifted from Harry’s clothes. He cast a quick diagnostic on his eyes and repaired the glasses, adjusting their dioptric strength slightly.

Harry blinked slightly in surprise but didn’t say anything except for a muttered thanks.

“So, uh… what is it that you do?” Harry asked curiously.

“I actually just got a new job. I’ll be a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he replied, grinning slightly.

Harry gaped at him in surprise.

“Really? Are you our new Defense professor?” he asked hopefully.

“No, sorry. I believe some fellow named Lockhart took that post. I’m the new History professor.”

“Binns is gone? My friend Ron will be beside himself!” Harry said giddily.

“Not very popular, was he?” Merlin asked, amused.

Harry backtracked quickly.

“Oh, uhm, well… I don’t think the subject’s so bad, but he was always droning on and on. He was a ghost, you see-“

“A _What?_ ” Merlin asked, outraged.

“They let a _ghost_ teach you?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Harry answered timidly.

“Well who blundered on that decision? Ghost’s can’t be expected to teach children! They’re natural soporifics! How’s any child expected to learn when they’re too busy sleeping?”

Harry laughed slightly.

“I thought I was just a bad student.”

“Unbelievable! Clearly, I’ll have to start from zero, I doubt anyone managed to learn anything from him.”

Harry looked at him, an amused glint in his eye.

“Well, actually-“

“HARRY!” a voice yelled, before a girl plowed straight into them, hugging Harry fiercely.

“Hermione! I’m so glad I found you. Where is everyone?” Harry asked, conversation momentarily forgotten.

“They’re waiting at Flourish and Blotts so we can go book shopping together,” she answered quickly.

Then she seemed to notice for the first time that they weren’t alone, and a light blush spread across her cheeks.

“Harry? Who’s this?” she asked.

Harry also seemed to remember just then that Merlin was still there.

“Oh, sorry! Hermione, this is Magorian. Magorian, Hermione. He’s our new history professor,” he said enthusiastically.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Really? Professor Binns is gone?” she asked excitedly.

Merlin laughed.

“That’s the second time I’ve gotten that reaction. I hope everyone will be this happy to see me,” he said, still chuckling.

“Well, he was rather…” Hermione started.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“…rubbish.”

Harry gasped, looking at her accusingly.

“You always said he wasn’t so bad!”

“Yes, well, that’s because he was our teacher,” she said haughtily.

Merlin simply smiled at their bickering.

“Is it alright if I come with you?”, he asked, “I’m in need of some new books and I’d like to review the current textbook.”

“Of course!” Hermione replied happily, taking the opportunity to start needling him about his grading system and the upcoming classes.

* * *

When they arrived at Flourish and Blotts, it was rather crowded. A long line of people, mostly witches, were stood outside and inside of the store, presumably for the signing. Merlin bid Harry and Hermione goodbye after they spotted their families, disappearing to check out some of the more isolated shelves. He climbed a set of steps to keep an eye on them while he browsed.

It turned out that the fellow signing the books was none other than the new Defense teacher. Merlin was eager at first to talk to someone else who was new to Hogwarts, but soon realized, after flipping through his books, that he seemed rather like a self-obsessed git. Most of the stories were clearly exaggeration, if not fully made up.

He watched Lockhart smile charmingly at the middle-aged witches, suggesting autographs in rather inappropriate places and pointing out that he was “once again” on the cover of Witch Weekly. Merlin suppressed the urge to gag.

He’d just been engrossed in a rather infuriating book on the Goblin Revolutions when he heard it.

“It can’t be Harry Potter!” Lockhart asked gleefully.

Merlin turned subtly to watch the proceedings over the top of his book.

He was correct in guessing that Harry Potter was the same Harry he was meant to protect. Now that he thought about it, something about the name seemed vaguely familiar.

He watched as Lockhart yanked him to his side and then waxed poetic about himself and his generosity, gifting Harry with his collection. Merlin thought it was a rather rubbish gift. He was about to just roll his eyes and get on with it when another person caught his eye.

It was the boy from his visions, the one who’d looked pale faced and terrified. He was a far cry from that now, instead sneering disdainfully at Harry.

_Well that’s interesting_

He watched as the boy lowered his gaze back to his book and then promptly tore a page from it.

Merlin resisted the urge to screech with outrage, he wasn’t turning into Gaius!

But then, out of nowhere, a piercing darkness stifles Merlin’s thoughts momentarily. Something incredibly wicked, incredibly evil, had just made its presence known.

But the sensation faded as quickly as it came. When Merlin glanced in the direction he thought it had come from, all he could see were Harry and the Weasley children. Strange.

Merlin ended up buying the infuriating book and several others like it. He added two on wizarding etiquette, so he could possibly avoid sticking his foot in his mouth for once. Merlin passed Lockhart’s collection, glancing at it distastefully.

He was just trying to leave and get back to his cozy little shed when all hell broke loose.

The crowd were shoving each other to try and get closer to the conundrum, nearly bowling Merlin over. He fought his way to the front and watched as Mister Weasley decked a silver haired wizard right in front of everyone. They went rolling, knocking over a bookshelf in the process.

As he got closer, his magic suddenly reacted aggressively. Something was agitating it, possibly the darkness from before? Before Merlin could so much as think about it, his magic sprung out and separated the two men. He quickly pulled out his wand before anyone could notice.

They stared around in bafflement, unable to find the source of the spell.

The silver haired man sneered at Mr. Weasley in a near reflection of the expression he’d seen on the boy. This man, however, wasn’t at all struggling to look malicious. Everything about him had Merlin’s hackles raised.

He made a disparaging remark about the Weasley family and promptly made Merlin wish he’d decked him himself when he insulted Hermione based on her race.

Sadly, before he could do so, the man turned and left, taking his son with him.

If Merlin accidentally slipped and cast an itching curse on him, no one needed to know about that.


	4. In Which Merlin Learns About Modernday Hogwarts and Is Not Pleased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He walked up and down the aisle, awkwardly peering into compartments and hoping to find an empty one. When he reached the last compartment and saw that it was occupied by 2 people already, he swallowed his pride and knocked softly.
> 
> “Yes?” a voice floated dreamily from the other side of the door.
> 
> Merlin pulled the door open and stuck his head in, trying for a friendly grin.
> 
> “Is this one full?” he asked.
> 
> “No, there’s another four seats left, actually,” she replied, evidently confused.
> 
> The boy next to her smiled shily.
> 
> “You- you can sit with us, sir,” he said.
> 
> “Oh, no need for that. My name is Magorian, yours?” he asked cheerily.
> 
> The boy seemed to calm slightly at his smile.
> 
> “I’m Neville, and that’s Luna.”

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

Merlin dashed through King’s Cross like a maniac, pushing and shoving and cursing. 1400 years. He was 1400 years old and somehow in all that time he still hadn’t learned how to be _on bloody time._ He could practically see Gaius’ eyebrow raised at him judgmentally. This was his very first day as a Hogwarts teacher and he was already late, he’d be surprised if they didn’t fire him immediately stating incompetence.

Merlin was so busy imagining his imminent firing that he barreled straight into two bewildered children. The three of them went flying, Merlin catching an elbow straight to the stomach that knocked the breath out of him. He laid on the tile floor of the station and groaned; all he saw was a tangle of black hair which was decidedly not his.

“I’M SO SORRY!” he shouted.

The black nest moved, and Merlin was instead faced with a pair of bewildered green eyes and a slightly agape mouth. It was Harry, of all people. He seemed baffled by the fact that Merlin apologized for knocking him over. He continued to stare. Merlin stared right back; the pair of eyes having sent the ghost of a memory through him. He saw a head of dark curly hair and intelligent green eyes, felt a hand ghost over his face and smile, telling him he really was a clumsy moron for such a great warlock.

“Uhhhhh, mate, not to interrupt, but we’re about to miss the train,” a voice said from above.

Both Harry and Merlin’s faces whipped around to its source, Harry finally seeming to realize his predicament and scrambling off.

The voice from above was the other boy, he was taller and gangly with a bright red head of hair and a spattering of freckles. He assumed it was one of the Weasley’s he’d spotted in Flourish and Blotts.

“Oh no! Er, sorry for elbowing you and falling on you, sir,” Harry muttered quickly.

“It’s fine, no harm done and technically, I’m the one who ran you guys over. Also, what’s with this ‘sir’ business?” Merlin replied.

“Well, you’re our professor now. It would be impolite to just call you… Magorian, uh, sir,” Harry rambled.

Merlin smiled at Harry and his friend.

“Well, we’re not currently at school. You can call me ‘Professor Emerson’ when the respectable teachers are about. But I don’t think I’ll make my students call me professor in class, it’s just Magorian.”

The red head simply gave him an awkward smile.

“My name’s Ron. Ron Weasley. I think I saw you with Harry last week.”

“Yes, that. I was actually also lost and figured we should band together,” Merlin replied.

“Thanks again, sir… Magorian,” Harry said.

“Oh, shoot! We should get on the platform!” Merlin exclaimed.

Harry and Ron both grabbed their luggage and started to wheel towards the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Merlin, who only had his trusty satchel and Gaius in his cage, walked ahead of them.

He was going to continue his conversation with them when he walked straight into the barrier and fell flat on his arse. From behind he heard a snort that quickly turned into a cough.

_Great one, Merlin. No wonder they find it so incredulous that you’re a teacher. First, you launch yourself into them and then you walk face first into the magic barrier. Real impressive._

The coughing slowly came to a stop when the boys realized that they too couldn’t get through the barrier.

Ron rounded on his friend; his face filled with panic.

“Now what will we do?” he groaned.

Harry simply shrugged, seemingly in a similar state.

_Ok Merlin. Time to be a useful adult._

“I can take you,” he shrugged.

They both turned back to him.

“How?” Ron asked.

“I can just apparate us to Hogsmeade. Granted, we’ll be a few hours early, but I suppose it’s the best I can come up with.”

They looked unsure and Ron sent his friend a doubtful glance.

“But what about my parents and all the other adults trying to get out” Ron asked doubtfully.

“Oh. Right. I suppose that won’t do,” Merlin replied, feeling slightly sheepish.

There went his plan of using the least impressive, minimal amount of magic he could. He sighed. Perhaps he’d get lucky and they’d believe it was a cute little charm that Merlin was lifting.

He rolled up his sleeves and made Ron play lookout as he set his palms against the barrier. He sent out tentative tendrils of his magic, feeling out the enchantment and nearly recoiled in surprise when he realized that it was a variant of Old Magic.

If Merlin hadn’t been there, everyone would have simply had to wait till the enchanter or a magical “creature” lifted the block.

“Probably a prank,” he said over his shoulder.

“Anyone out there who’d want to mess with you?” he asked jokingly, but Harry and Ron’s faces clearly read ‘yes’.

Well, Merlin certainly had his work cut out for him.

He wished that there was an elegant way to remove the block, but he was up against what seemed sheer desperation. Only blunt magical force would remove it. So, Merlin belatedly stuck his wand in his left hand and pushed his palms against the barrier again. He closed his eyes to keep the two from seeing them change.

He found the magic again and this time instead of tentative tendrils, he pushed a small trickle of his true power against it and watched the enchantment crumble and wither with his inner eye.

He opened them again and beckoned to the others.

“That should do it.”

Ron approached the barrier first, this time warily. He stuck a foot through and after realizing that he wouldn’t crash against it again, merrily shoved his way through. Harry followed and Merlin brought up the helm.

Once they crossed through, Harry and Ron were immediately assaulted by Mrs. Weasley.

After the two simply helplessly pointed at Merlin in explanation, she turned her teary eyes on him.

Oh no.

She rushed to him and enveloped him tightly, whispering tearful thank yous over and over again.

Something inside Merlin cracked a little and he melted into the hug. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a mother hug him like this.

“Molly dear, it’s time to let go. They’ll miss the train otherwise,” Mr. Weasley said fondly.

“Of course, of course, dear. Thank you again, young man, you’re welcome in our home at any time!” she rambled, giving Merlin one last pat.

Dazed, he followed the stream of stragglers into the train, the doors shutting promptly behind him.

He immediately felt like he was back in Ealdor, when everyone thought him the strange kid and wanted nothing to do with him. Except this time, he didn’t have Will with him.

Ron and Harry were long gone, and he strongly doubted anyone wanted to sit with a professor. Nobody wanted an adult supervising their start of term fun.

He walked up and down the aisle, awkwardly peering into compartments and hoping to find an empty one. When he reached the last compartment and saw that it was occupied by 2 people already, he swallowed his pride and knocked softly.

“Yes?” a voice floated dreamily from the other side of the door.

Merlin pulled the door open and stuck his head in, trying for a friendly grin.

“Is this one full?” he asked.

“No, there’s another four seats left, actually,” she replied, evidently confused.

The boy next to her smiled shily.

“You- you can sit with us, sir,” he said.

“Oh, no need for that. My name is Magorian, yours?” he asked cheerily.

The boy seemed to calm slightly at his smile.

“I’m Neville, and that’s Luna.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m the new History teacher. What year are you in?” he asked curiously.

“This is my first year. Neville is in 2nd year. He’s a Gryffindor,” she said, glancing at Merlin with a slightly unnerving look.

“Not a very good one, I’m afraid,” Neville joked, wringing his hands.

Merlin looked at him, confused.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

Neville looked at him slightly incredulously before lowering his gaze.

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Afraid not, I went to Beauxbatons.”

“Well, you see, Gryffindors, they’re… they’re supposed to be all brave and chivalrous,” he answered, hanging his head in shame.

“Oh, yes. I know. I did some reading on it.”

“But then- then you know why I said that,” Neville mumbled.

Merlin regarded him sadly, thinking about what Godric would say if he could see Neville.

“There are many different kinds of bravery. Just because you’re shy or don’t go running headfirst into danger doesn’t mean you aren’t brave. Godric- I mean, Gryffindor is said to have valued especially the kind of bravery that wasn’t obvious to everyone.”

Luna looked up at him again, and he had the strange feeling that she was looking straight through him.

Neville looked a little teary, but simply smiled at Merlin.

“Thank you. For thinking I’m not a bad Gryffindor.”

Merlin simply gave him a soft smile.

“And you? What house are you hoping to get sorted into?” Merlin asked Luna politely, if only to keep her from silently staring.

“I don’t really care. All of the houses have their own appeal. Though I think the Slytherins wouldn’t like me much,” she replied, unconcerned.

Merlin frowned again.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” he asked.

“I’m a pureblood, but I don’t really care about the values and traditions. I rather liked the muggles and muggleborns I’ve met so far; I don’t think I could swear off their company.”

A storm of emotions swirled inside of Merlin. Salazar’s house? Pureblood only? Swearing off muggleborn company? This was wrong. This was all wrong.

“Is there more you can tell me? I’m afraid I don’t really know much about Hogwarts politics. I don’t want to stick my foot in it,” Merlin asked innocently.

“Well, as you know, there’s the four houses. The Ravenclaws value intelligence, curiosity and creativity. They mostly keep to themselves, they’re a bit… a bit haughty, though sometimes they’ll make friends with some of the Hufflepuffs. The Hufflepuffs, well, they’re said to value kindness, hard work and loyalty. But everyone always says they’re just a bunch of pushovers and that they’re the rest, the ones that aren’t smart or brave or cunning enough… I thought I’d end up there. They’re usually friendly enough with everyone, but they largely keep to themselves because they know what everyone says about them.”

Merlin was devastated. Rowena’s house, haughty and removed from the others? And dear Helga’s house. He wanted to cry with rage. Helga’s house had never been about leftovers, but about inclusivity. About kindness and fierce loyalty. She was their linchpin, without her, the founders would’ve never truly been a family. Aside from that, she was bloody Norse, for the Goddess’s sake! Of course she wasn’t a push over! Naturally, she was kind and caring, but she could be bloody terrifying if anyone threatened her people.

“The Gryffindor’s are a little more popular. They take a lot of pride in being the daring house. Some of them are brash and loud and arrogant, but most of them are alright. They have a big rivalry with Slytherin, those two are always getting in fights,” Neville continued.

Merlin shook his head in absolute bewilderment. Godric and Salazar’s houses? Enemies? Those two were thick as thieves! The best of friends until the end. They’d practically grown up together.

“And then… there’s the Slytherins,” Neville said reluctantly.

“Yes? What’s with the Slytherins?” he asked, frantic.

“They value cunning. But, well, they don’t really interact with anyone else. They hate the Gryffindors and they make fun of the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws. They’re pretty exclusive, no muggleborns allowed. They uphold the old pureblood traditions,” he rushed, as if knowing how Merlin would react.

This time, he really was shaking. He was trying hard to suppress it, but he couldn’t quite manage. Salazar would be absolutely crushed if he heard what his house had turned into. Salazar, his Salazar, standing for animosity and pureblood traditions. He couldn’t believe it.

Then, the dull sadness turned into rage and resolve. He would teach them. He would teach all of these children what it was like to be true. True Gryffindors. True Slytherins. True Hufflepuffs. True Ravenclaws.

He regained his composure and turned to Luna. She was looking at him curiously but didn’t comment on his outbreak.

“So, any teachers I need to be wary of?” he asked, smile back on his face.

“Hmm, there’s Professor Snape-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, hope I didn't get too carried away with Merlin's rage. No worries, next chapter will be Hogwarts!


	5. In Which Merlin Meets and Immediately Adores Hagrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as he was taking in the fact that all of the teachers were, in fact, wearing wizarding robes, he tripped up the stairs to the table.
> 
> Quiet giggling filled the hall and Merlin smiled sheepishly before dusting himself off and continuing on his way, finally sinking into his chair.
> 
> Well, that could’ve gone worse.
> 
> “Pleased ter meet ya, I’m Rubeus Hagrid,” the man said, shaking Merlin’s hand vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST SAW BIG HERO 6 FOR THE FIRST TIME NO ONE TOUCH ME I'M CRYING

Once they arrived, Merlin blindly followed Neville through the swarm of students. It was pouring down rain and he was starting to get slightly irritated. Neville looked like a drowned rat within a matter of seconds. Merlin pulled out his wand and cast a drying charm on the both of them and got a shy smile for his efforts.

Merlin had the sneaking suspicion that focusing on one kid only wasn’t going to fly. He was a sap and he knew it.

The crowd started thinning out when they reached a long line of carriages pulled by, strangely enough, Thestrals. Merlin smiled at them in delight and gave the two closest ones a quick pat on the muzzle before letting himself be sucked into a carriage.

He sat squished against Neville, who was increasingly folding in on himself the closer they got to the castle. Merlin kept shooting him worried glances, but Neville wouldn’t meet his gaze.

_Don’t get attached, don’t get attached, don’t get attached-_

Oh, who was he kidding. He’d only known the kid for five hours and was ready to do anything to get him to smile again.

The two children sat across from them were wearing red and gold ties and were staring at Merlin in open bewilderment. He supposed it wasn’t often that a teacher took the train with the students. They probably thought he was meant to chaperone.

The idea was vaguely insulting, if anything, Merlin would actively contribute to any mischief going on.

When the carriages came to a halt, Merlin took a hold of Neville’s sleeve so as not to lose him in the sea of children. Neville looked startled but didn’t comment as he tugged Merlin along in his wake.

Merlin was a little baffled at what was evidently a school uniform. He truly hoped he wouldn’t have to wear something like that, he rather preferred his soft sweater and denims. Additionally, Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned anything about a dress code, so there better not be one for the man’s sake.

He involuntarily came to a halt right in front of the Great Doors, breath hitching slightly. This was it. He was entering the place that had been his home just under a thousand years ago. Ghostly memories flitted along his eyelids.

Neville turned to him.

“Are - are you alright?” he asked Merlin.

“Oh, yes! Sorry about that, just a bit stunning, seeing it for the first time and all,” he rambled.

Neville seemed satisfied with this answer and continued their slow trudge towards the Great Hall.

It was just as grand as he remembered. Seeing that the ceiling’s enchantment still held pleased him immensely – it had been a rather tricky bit of magic. Rowena, Salazar and him had created it based off of an idea Helga and Godric had cooked up.

Those two were always dreaming their days away, making outrageous suggestions that Salazar would first scoff at and then immediately try to realize. It was almost a bit of a competition between Rowena and Salazar. They both tried to come up with an idea faster than the other but would inevitably end up working together. They were a bit terrifying.

Now that Merlin actually had a bit of space to move, the students having gone to their places, he glanced ahead to try and figure out where _his_ place was. Back in his day, he’d just sat wherever there was space. But it seemed that everyone was expected to sit with their house. He presumed that the large, elevated table at the end of the hall was meant for the teachers. Also strange, Rowena, Godric, Salazar, Helga and him had just sat among the students.

Then again, there’d only been about a hundred of them.

He almost felt nervous, approaching the head table. Then he shook himself.

_You are one and a half millennia old, pull yourself together._

In the middle sat Dumbledore. The only other face he recognized was Lockhart’s and he elected to sit as far away from him as possible. In total, he counted about 12 teachers. Two places were still vacant. Which one was meant for him?

He glanced around a little desperately. Then, from the far left, a man winked at him and gestured him over. Merlin smiled at him, relieved, and made his way over. The man had wild, curly brown hair and a dense beard that was just as untamed. Furthermore, he was absolutely _huge._ Merlin had seen few people like him over the centuries, but if he was correct, the man was half giant. His eyes sparkled kindly at Merlin and he decided then and there that he liked this man.

Just as he was taking in the fact that all of the teachers were, in fact, wearing wizarding robes, he tripped up the stairs to the table.

Quiet giggling filled the hall and Merlin smiled sheepishly before dusting himself off and continuing on his way, finally sinking into his chair.

_Well, that could’ve gone worse._

“Pleased ter meet ya, I’m Rubeus Hagrid,” the man said, shaking Merlin’s hand vigorously.

“The pleasure is mine. I’m Magorian, the new History teacher.”

“’s been a while since we had a new histr’y teacher,” Hagrid comments merrily.

“I can’t believe they let a ghost teach history! You’d think they’d know better than to-“

* * *

Merlin would be lying if he said the singing Sorting Hat didn’t surprise him. He had absolutely no clue who’d come up with that bit of magic. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to slap them or ask them how they did it. However dubious its sung advice, he did rather agree with its decision of putting Luna in Ravenclaw. Another Weasley also caught his attention, seemingly the only daughter.

Her name was Ginevra and Merlin felt a little thrill when he heard it. He knew it was unfair to associate the girl with his Gwen just based on her name, but he couldn’t help it. He resolved to watch her a little more closely.

The sight of all that food frankly sent him into a bit of a tizzy. Even by Camelot standards, it was a lot. Living a rather nomadic life had assured that he didn’t get too used to steady meals and large amounts of food availability. He was a little amused to see Harry’s friend Ron absolutely stuffing himself.

The amusement faded when the ghosts appeared. Merlin felt like a deer in headlights when Helena caught sight of him. Her expression turned from shock, to outrage, to excitement within a second and she abruptly glided over to him. Merlin shook his head vigorously at her, but she ignored him.

Hagrid started eyeing him strangely.

“And that concludes the evening feast. You may return to your dormitories. First years, follow your prefects. If I could ask my colleagues to meet in the teacher’s lounge shortly?” Dumbledore announced.

Merlin bolted out of his seat and shoved Hagrid ahead of him.

“Wow that’s so nice of him. Where exactly is this teacher’s lounge, Hagrid?” Merlin asked frantically.

“Jus’ up ahead behin’ tha’ door. My, ya really are eager, aren’t ya?” Hagrid chuckled.

“Yes. Yes, very eager. Just a smidge faster, please.”

Helena sent him a glare and shot him a look that clearly signaled that she wasn’t done with him.

Hagrid nearly ran over Lockhart in his Merlin induced haste, but Merlin found that he wasn’t very sorry.

The teacher’s lounge was rather unimpressive. If Merlin remembered correctly, this room used to have the sole purpose of dragging Salazar in there for a timeout when he was about to throttle a visiting noble.

It was small and cramped; sofas and armchairs were lined up in imitation of a circle that took up nearly the entire space. In the middle was a low coffee table that seemed rather like an afterthought, considering that it would hold about five beverages at most.

The other teachers swiftly took up most of the available space. Merlin elected to stick with Hagrid and ended up practically sitting in his lap as they squished themselves onto a two-seater.

Awkward silence reigned for a minute.

“As you know, we have two new teachers this term, so I thought we could have a short introductory round,” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

A rather greasy looking man glared at Dumbledore. Most teachers didn’t seem pleased that their sleep would be delayed for this.

“Would anyone like to start?” Dumbledore asked indulgently, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Merlin knew why.

“Why, if I may, I would like to go first. Though I hardly think I need introducing,” Lockhart said, laughing airily.

An immediate eyeroll was passed throughout the lounge. Good, that meant his colleagues weren’t gullible morons. Though Merlin did wonder why on earth Dumbledore would hire someone like Lockhart if everyone saw through him.

Merlin tuned out most of Lockhart’s little speech, only noting that he supposedly had a mastery in charms.

Sure, and Merlin was born yesterday.

“I am Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher of this school. I hold masteries in Transfiguration and Arithmancy. I am also acting as head of Gryffindor house,” a woman with a thick Scottish accent said curtly.

She seemed a good sort, but Merlin immediately knew that she wasn’t someone to cross. Funnily enough, she reminded him slightly of Gaius.

“My name is Pomona Sprout and I am the head of Hufflepuff house. I teach Herbology, but I also hold a mastery in Healing Magic. Before, I was a medi-witch at St. Mungos. I graduated at Hogwarts... a few years ago,” another elderly witch said kindly.

She definitely felt more warm than the others. Helga would approve.

“I’m Filius Flitwick. I also schooled at Hogwarts. I’m both the choir teacher and the Charms teacher. I hold masteries in both Charms and Musical Theory, and I’ve been head of Ravenclaw house for the past 20 years.”

The head of Ravenclaw also seemed rather merry. Merlin immediately picked up the trace of Old Magic in him and resolved to give him some sort off explanation to throw him off the scent.

“My name… is Professor Snape. I am Head of Slytherin house and teach Potions. I hold masteries in Potions and Mind Magic,” the greasy man from before said curtly.

Merlin didn’t know why, but something about the man’s magic felt off to him. He also got the distinct feeling that Snape disliked him. But an intelligence glittered in his cold eyes that would’ve surely intrigued Salazar.

“I’m Aurora Sinistra. I teach Astronomy and occasionally give lectures on Magical Theory. I’ve got a mastery in Astronomy only,” a dark-skinned woman said that looked like she was around Merlin’s physical age.

She was rather hard for Merlin to read, she seemed neither interested nor disinterested in him. Neutral was the best word for it.

Merlin is unashamed to say that he started tuning out the talking after that, instead focusing on his magic’s reaction and the general feel of the person. Sure, masteries were important, but Merlin was more interested in their character. In categorizing whether or not they were a threat to his… the students.

“My name’s Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys an’ Grounds o’ Hogwarts. I dun have any masteries, they expelled me and snapped me wand when I was th’rteen,” Hagrid said, slightly bashful.

Now that did interest Merlin. Why on earth would they expel Hagrid?

Merlin snapped back into focus when he realized that everyone was staring at him expectantly.

“Oh! Sorry. Hi, I’m Magorian. I actually studied at Beauxbatons and then travelled the world. As you know, I’m the new History of Magic teacher. I hold a mastery in that, and also, uh, Defense and Potions,” he says lamely.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are how old?” she asked.

_About one thousand, four hundred and seventy-one._

“Twenty-six,” he replies.

“And three masteries? Impressive,” she says.

Merlin just smiles sheepishly.

“Ah yes, quite impressive, dear fellow, but I-“ Lockhart started, puffing up his chest.

Before he had the chance to start waxing about himself, Snape cut in.

“What did you say your surname was?” he asked sharply.

Merlin figured he was one of those pureblood, magical families fanatics that he’d read about in one of his books.

“It’s Emerson, Magorian Emerson. I come from a non-magical family,” Merlin said spitefully.

Snape sneered slightly, but no one else seemed very interested in this revelation.

“Well, wasn’t this lovely,” Dumbledore said cheerily. “I’ll let you get to your quarters then. Can’t have the teachers tired on the first day.”

McGonagall glared a little at that.

“Minerva, would you mind showing Magorian to his living quarters? I believe they’re closest to yours,” he continued.

She inhaled a great gust of breath.

“Why, of course, Albus. Come along then, Professor Emerson,” she said curtly.

The Great Hall looked even stranger without the students in it.

Helena was waiting for him at the doors. Drat.

“WHY, PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL. IT IS A GHOST. HOW FASCINATING. WHO IS SHE?” he asked loudly.

Professor McGonagall shot him a look.

“That’s Helena Ravenclaw, the ghost of Ravenclaw tower.”

Helena, obviously having gotten the hint, rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh! A founder’s child! Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but I would like to speak to her about the Founding. History nerd, you know. I’m sure Helena can show me to my quarters,” he said.

“Of course,” she replied irritably, leaving in a sweep of her robes.

“Bloody hell, Helena! I’m undercover!”

“I gathered as much,” she said drily.

“I promise you; we can catch up soon. But it is a rather long story and I’m pretty tired from all of the excitement.”

Helena saw that for the blatant lie it was but understood that he wasn’t in a state to talk.

“Alright. Come along then, I’ll show you to your quarters. What name are you going by these days?” she asked.

“Magorian. Magorian Emerson.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“French this time, are we?” she asked.

“Shut up, it was convenient.”

She only laughed at him.


	6. In Which Merlin Picks Up Lockhart's Slack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have a whole three weeks off that I ould've used to write? Yes  
> Did I use that time to write? No  
> Istg y'all why am I like this

Harry was quietly seething as he walked down the corridor with his classmates. It was only the first day back, but he had the sneaking suspicion that this year was going to be unduly difficult. He’d just come from Lockhart’s class, which had been a disaster in of itself. If Harry thought Lockhart was a pompous windbag before, he now knew it for certain.

Stupid Lockhart and his useless quiz and his useless lesson. Even Quirrell had been more competent, and the man had literally been carrying Voldemort on the back of his head! He just didn’t understand it, Defense was such an important class and this man was turning it into a joke. Harry might have just written him off as a self-involved git after the quiz, but he had truly gotten into Harry’s bad books in the disaster afterwards.

Without any sort of warning or instruction he’d simply let a horde of pixies loose on them and then just fled when the pixies had stolen his wand. He clearly hadn’t known the actual spell to get rid of the pixies and then he’d just left them to fend for themselves! Poor Neville had been hung from the ceiling and it had taken a bit of puzzling to figure out how to get him back down.

Ron also had a rather mutinous expression on his face and seemed to agree with Harry wholeheartedly, judging by the angry muttering to Harry’s left.

“Useless git…oh, but what is my favorite color?... can’t believe you didn’t know my go to hair routine...!”

The Slytherins, though less obvious about it, seemed to feel similarly. To the untrained eye, they might have just been their aloof, haughty selves. But Harry had known them long enough to spot the tension.

Draco Malfoy, rather than complaining and prattling on about Lockhart’s failures, walked stiffly, his nostrils flared. Pansy Parkinson was attempting to fight angry tears as she untangled her painfully knotted hair. Everywhere he saw signs of strained composure.

Neville was walking slightly ahead of Harry and Ron. He had his head down and was silently rubbing his ears, waving off Hermione’s attempts to distract him. Harry felt another wave of anger at the sight.

He felt slightly guilty that he was in such a foul mood right in time for Magorian’s class. The new Professor had been nothing but kind and enthusiastic about his new role as teacher and had helped Harry out on multiple occasions already. He tried to let a bit of his irritation drain away but couldn’t help wishing for classes to be done with already.

Few of the faces Harry encountered on his way to the History classroom seemed enthused that they had to endure another lesson, even if it wasn’t Professor Binns awaiting them.

Surprisingly, when their little group reached the corridor, it was empty of students. They soon discovered that this was because the classroom door was already open, which was a stark contrast to previous times, since Professor Binns hadn’t quite seemed to grasp the flow of time any longer and was usually a good ten minutes late.

Harry turned to Ron who simply shrugged at him and forged ahead. He had to suppress a grin when he entered and saw Magorian sitting cross legged on the teacher’s desk. In full muggle garb. Perhaps this was going to entertaining after all.

“Would you look at him, looks like a filthy muggle...” Pansy snickered behind Hermione.

Hermione promptly stuck her nose in the air in response and pointedly sat in the row nearest the desk, dragging a helpless Harry and Ron along in her wake.

“Why do we have to sit up front, ‘Mione? I can’t sleep when he’s right in front of me!” Ron moaned.

She shot him a glare.

“Perhaps you oughtn’t sleep then, Ronald.”

“Just because I’m not- “

Harry tuned out the sounds of their argument, long since familiar with this particular one.

He took his time glancing around the classroom. The room felt much lighter than it had during Binns’ tenure. The shutters and windows were all open. As a result, large swaths of sunlight bathed the classroom in a warm glow and Harry swore he could feel a warm breeze tousling at his hair. It carried with it the smell of freshly cut grass from the grounds.

The once bare ceiling was covered in images of magical and non-magical maps throughout time, showing the changing of territories. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall ever having seen a map inside Hogwarts. He watched with interest as an old map of Britain was slowly overtaken by the Danes.

Hermione elbowed him sharply and he quickly moved his attention to their teacher.

Magorian was inching slightly further to the front of the desk, his face splitting into a rather dorky grin.

Harry watched in amusement as a few students leaned back in bewilderment.

“Hiyas, I’m Magorian.”

Stunned silence.

“So, while I’m dying to set some ground rules and ramble about the curriculum, I can’t help but notice that something seems to have upset you,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

The students exchanged glances.

“Care to talk about it? I’d rather you’re able to concentrate when the class actually begins.”

The Slytherins stared resolutely ahead, whether out of an unwillingness to cooperate with Magorian or to rat out a teacher, Harry didn’t know.

“It was Lockhart!” Ron finally burst out.

“Oh? What did he do?” Magorian asked with interest.

Muttering broke out.

“Stupid quiz- “

“Useless spell…”

“Defense? I think not- “

Magorian raised a palm, smiling indulgently and the muttering halted.

“What was it he was…trying…to teach?” he asked.

A few people snickered with amusement at the emphasis put on _trying._

Finally, Harry piped up.

“He was trying to teach us how to fend off pixies. But all he did was set them on us without warning and then run!” he seethed.

“Yeah! He didn’t even stick around to help get Neville from the ceiling!” Dean added.

Harry watched as a stormy expression briefly flitted across Magorian’s face.

“Is that true, Neville? Why were you on the ceiling?” he asked, expression back to normal.

“Uhm…the pixies they – they hauled me up by m-my ears…” he replied nervously.

Magorian suddenly hopped from his desk and padded towards Neville.

“Would you like me to heal them? They look a bit painful.”

Neville seemed absolutely baffled.

“If it’s no bother,” he whispered.

“Of course, it’s no bother,” he responded kindly.

The Professor whipped out his wand and pointed it briefly at Neville, who’s ears instantly returned to their normal shade.

Harry noted that Magorian’s wand seemed to be made of rather strange wood. He’d never seen its like before. Before he could think to ask though, Magorian spoke up again.

“Is anyone else injured? I can try my best to heal any minor injuries.”

Silence reigned, until

“My hair, Professor,” Pansy said quietly.

Harry was gob smacked, the only teacher the Slytherins ever asked for help was Snape. 

Seamus snickered.

“My hair,” he mocked, “that’s not a real injury!”

Magorian turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

“Knotted hair can be quite painful on your scalp. No injury is laughable. If it hurts, it hurts. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t make light of other people’s pain,” he said pleasantly.

More stunned silence. Had he just reprimanded someone for teasing?

“Now,” he said, walking over to Pansy, “tell me if it hurts.”

He carefully set his wand right above the crown of her head, not quite touching. He closed his eyes and Pansy’s hair glowed faintly before returning to its normal straight locks.

“Thank you,” she said, almost inaudibly.

Magorian returned to the front of the class, a rather mischievous smile crossing his face.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that a teacher failed to show you how to defend yourselves. Let’s assume that this hypothetical teacher won’t be correcting his error either. Then it would be safe to say that, hypothetically, if you wanted, a different hypothetical teacher with the right credentials could teach you before officially starting his lesson.”

Harry snorted.

“Would you?” Hermione asked, suddenly eager.

Magorian smiled.

“Hermione’s technique of immobilizing the creatures was quite clever. However, if you want to goad them back into their…hypothetical…cage, you’d need to know one vital fact about Cornish Pixies,” he prompted.

“Cornish Pixies love ginger root. They go absolutely mad for it, it’s a technique that’s been used for ages to trap them.”

A few of the students looked unsure.

“But…what if we don’t have any ginger around?” asked Harry.

“Then, there are two options. Conjure it or summon it. Since conjuring is a bit advanced for your age, I could show you the spell for summoning.”

“You move your wand like this,” he said, “and say accio ginger.”

Harry shrugged and followed the wand movement.

“Accio ginger!”

Before Harry could figure out what was going on, Ron crashed into him and they landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

Magorian was nearly crying with laughter at his desk.

“You should – you should really,” he wheezed, “focus on the specific type of – of ginger.”

The classroom erupted into delighted laughter and Harry could feel the tips of his ears reddening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short but I'll post more soon I swear


	7. In Which Merlin Quickly Becomes A Student Favorite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't take forever to update I don't know what you're talking about...

After another fifteen minutes or so, everyone had successfully summoned a bit of ginger.

“Alright, alright, settle down – well done Neville – now, let’s get to the actual topic of this class: history!” Magorian exclaimed brightly.

A few people let out barely suppressed groans.

“Oh, come on, history is fun!”

“Not bloody likely…” Ron whispered to Harry.

“Have faith, Ronald! I will corrupt you all into liking this class eventually.”

“Now, before I start rambling, I suppose I’ve got to set some ground rules. You may all call me Magorian, there’s no need to address me formally. If it’s alright, I’d also like to call you by your given names rather than your family names.”

This announcement caused a few whispers to break out. Not be addressed by their family names? Allowed to have equal treatment to their teacher?

“I just hope he drops the whole Ronald thing and calls me Ron,” Ron murmured.

“I think he was just making a point, Ron, don’t worry about it,” Harry whispered back.

“Will you pay attention?” Hermione hissed.

“I’ve gone through the approved curriculum and frankly, it’s ridiculous. The small amount of material they provided me with will last for maybe a month or two. I’ve decided to push this to the end of the year, so it’ll be fresh in your minds for the examinations. The rest of the year, I’ve been given permission by Dumbledore to choose the topics myself,” Magorian declared.

This immediately caught Hermione’s attention as well as that of a large part of the Slytherins.

“Professor… Magorian?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, Hermione?”

“So, we’ll be learning things that aren’t in our books? Will we get an additional textbook?”

“You will not have an additional textbook. However, at the end of each class I’ll have you copy a text that summarizes what we spoke of during the period. I can also provide you with additional reading if something piques your interest,” he answered smoothly.

Harry watched with amusement as Hermione’s crestfallen expression turned into delight at the mention of additional reading.

“As to the topic of homework, I don’t really see the need to drown you in paperwork. I’m sure you have more than enough on your plate with your other classes. All I require is a monthly essay on a historical topic of your choosing, whether it be something we did in class or not. I’d like at least half a page , about 8 inches. And before you ask, no, don’t write in terribly large handwriting, since I will be grading them and they’ll make up half of your grade. If you can’t think of a topic or can’t find any books on a topic, I’m happy to give suggestions and lend you books from my own collection.”

“Half a page? This is brilliant! We get more from McGonagall daily!” Ron exclaimed gleefully at Harry.

Magorian chuckled at the words of agreement that followed Ron’s statement.

“Okay, so I’ve covered homework and grading… am I missing something?” Magorian asked awkwardly.

A chuckle went through the room.

“What sort of topics will we be covering?” Draco asked suddenly.

“Oh, right! Well, we’ll talk about the origins and history of magic itself, which includes a bit of magical theory. We’ll also cover different Civil Rights movements in the magical world, the Founding and the last two wizarding wars. Every once in a while, I’ll have a guest lecturer to speak on species rights…”

“Oh! And obviously we’ll compare the events happening in both magical and muggle world and how they affect each other. That’s about it, I think.”

“About it? He just named a list as long as my arm!” Dean exclaimed.

“We’ll be talking about muggle history?” Zabini sneered, “Whatever for?”

“Because the lives of muggles affect us much more than most realize, and vice versa. If we want to understand what was happening in our world, we have to look beyond it.”

Zabini looked doubtful at the explanation but didn’t question him further.

“So, just one last thing and then we’ll get started on the first topic of the year. I know I’m your History teacher, but if you have any questions at all or feel you’re not receiving adequate education in some areas, don’t hesitate to ask for help. I know quite a bit about most magical and societal subjects and never mind sharing that knowledge…

There is no such thing as a stupid question. If it’s something you feel too embarrassed to ask about in person, you can simply write me a note and I’ll supply you with material on the subject without comment. In my opinion, your subjects are rather limited and even though I’m only meant to teach you this subject, I’d rather you are as educated as possible before you leave school.”

Harry noted that Hermione was practically glowing with adoration. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Lockhart had been promptly replaced as The Best Teacher in her books. Not that Harry really understood why he’d been there in the first place.

“Anything? Even about etiquette or…or muggle things?” Neville asked quietly.

“Yes, though I admit I’ve never been very fond of Divination, but that doesn’t stop me from giving you books about it. Now, any other questions or can we get started?”

This was met with silence. Weirdly enough, Harry actually felt suddenly excited at the prospect of learning about history. Clearly, Magorian was a terrible influence.

“So, today, we’re going to talk about the history of magic itself. More specifically, its origins. Can anybody guess how long magic’s been around? Yes?” he asked.

“Lavender, sir, perhaps since the druids?” she answered tentatively.

“Good guess, but we have to go further back. Yes?”

“Millicent, maybe with the ancient Egyptians?”

This seemed a rather popular theory, as several hands went down.

Merlin smiled at them, knowing it was a bit of a trap. But it didn’t hurt to include them, did it?

“Not quite, we have to go even further. Any takers?”

“Yes, Harry?” he prompted.

“Maybe…maybe since the stone age? With the people then?”, he guessed.

“Closer, but also off. Any more guesses?”

Merlin waited a few seconds, watching the students eye each other.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Magic has been around…forever,” he said.

Draco’s hand shot up, as well as several others.

“Yes, Draco?”

“Since forever? So, magic was around before wizards?” he asked, baffled.

“Exactly. Magic was around long before humans and other animals were. It is magical creatures like dragons and elves who first managed to harness this power and then taught humans to do the same.”

“Creatures taught humans to use magic?” Seamus inquired, clearly surprised by this information.

“Yes, they did. Have you ever wondered where exactly magic comes from? And what magic actually is?”

Merlin was getting more and more into it as he watched the students enraptured expressions.

“Magic,” he said, “is life.”

“And by that, I mean all life. Every living thing possesses magic. Every plant, every animal, every human.”

“But that’s impossible! Muggles don’t have magic!” Pansy exclaimed.

“Not in the sense that you do. The muggles call it energy. The difference between you students and a muggle is that while everyone possesses a magical core, you, unlike muggles, are able to access it.”

“Muggles have a magical core?” Hermione asked with great interest.

“They do. I believe they refer to it as their soul. Every living thing has this magical core, or soul. The difference is how strong said core is. Only humans and creatures and plants with very strong cores are able to perform magic. But it wasn’t always like that.”

Merlin observed the huge eyes of the children for a moment.

“Long ago, up to the time of the demise of the druids, we practiced something called Old Magic. While the magic we know draws from our core and is conducted through a wand or staff, Old Magic actually drew from the magic of all our surroundings and the wizards themselves were the conductors.”

“Like wandless magic!” Ron exclaimed.

“Similar, yes. What’s important is that in those times, nearly everyone was able to learn to perform some sort of magic. If trained properly, anyone with a sufficiently large core could do it. The people who had rather weak cores could develop into Hedgewitches and Hedgewizards, they could perform mundane charms to slightly improve crops or heal boils or some such.

Then we had wizards. The name is slightly misleading as it was used regardless of gender. It refers to people with strong cores who learn to do magic at a rather high level, similar to you. Then, we have witches and warlocks. This refers to people who were born with an innate ability to do magic.

They were extremely powerful and could control things like the weather. They could levitate things, create massive storms and natural disasters, curse people or even learn to control them. Sometimes, they were able to defy the very forces of nature.”

“That’s…” Hermione started.

“Awesome!” Dean interjected.

“Terrifying,” she finished.

“Even wizards usually could cast more powerfully than the modern wizard, as they were able to draw not only on their own magic, but that of the earth. It is rumored that all powerful magic users of the time could create mental links to communicate with the mind over great distances. However, they too had to use incantations, though they incanted in Old English rather than Latin.”

What Merlin didn’t say was that he always seemed to be the one exception to the rule. He could levitate things with his mind before he even learned to walk. He could control time itself, had the power to mirror life and death. Such terrible power had its price, though. No mortal vessel could hold such power. No one with that much power could go unchecked, and so Merlin’s entire, immortal existence was bound to the Goddess and her cause.

“But then… what happened? Why is our magic different?” Hermione pressed.

“The old magical kingdom of Albionollapsed. The druids died out, unable to pass on the knowledge of the ways of the Old Religion and its magic. Then came the dark ages and something about magic... changed. People were unwilling to learn magic, terrified of persecution, punishment and death. Magic was suddenly only able to be upkept by a very small number of people. Now, only witches and warlocks performed magic, and weaker magic at that, since they only knew how to access their own,” he explained.

“But, if magic could no longer be learned… then magic had to be passed through some sort of genetic component for there to be wizards today, right?” Theodore asked.

“In a way, yes. The Old Religion worshipped the Lady Magic or the Triple Goddess, as they called her. It is believed that every other generation, she grants magic to the humans she favors. This is how magical family lines are created. Even today, this gift of magic is still given to favored humans, which is how Muggleborns are created.”

“You mean to tell us that Muggleborns are blessed by some magical Goddess?” Daphne sneered.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Once she blesses someone, magic becomes part of their… gene pool, if you will.”

“Gene pool?” asked Ron, confused.

“Ahh… I suppose you’d say their blood.”

“But then, why are there Squibs?” Draco asked smugly, clearly thinking he’d dismantled Merlin’s explanation.

“Sometimes, they are a product of a mutation. Even if both of their parents are wizards, sometimes things can go wrong in the development. Other times, it is seen as a deliberate choice by the Goddess. In a way, every single person that has magic is chosen to have it by the Goddess. There is no such thing as an accidental magical child.”

Merlin could see that quite a few of the students did not like this explanation, having correctly guessed the implication that all wizards were thus equal.

“But then… why are there bad wizards?” Parvati asked reluctantly.

“Balance,” Merlin said simply, his smile feeling awfully bitter.

“The highest order of the Old Religion was balance. Where there is light, there must also be shadow. Every once in a while, someone will take it too far and tip the great scale very strongly in one direction. I refer to people such as Grindelwald… and Voldemort.”

He watched as nearly every child in the vicinity winced. He knew they’d react that way, but Merlin would be damned before he taught these children fear.

“However, if there is great evil, which tips the balance, that also means that…?”

“There must be great good,” Harry finished.

“Precisely. Wherever such a strong, dark wizard pops up, there will be a counterpoint to said wizard sooner or later.”

Merlin tried very hard not to look at Harry as he said this, even though everyone else in the classroom did. Merlin knew Harry was destined to kill Voldemort, knew that Harry was said magical counterpoint. It wouldn’t happen for some time, but he was still so awfully young.

He wondered resentfully why it always had to be children. Why it was always up to the young to fix the mistakes of their elders. Merlin himself had been barely sixteen, already afraid every day of his life that he’d be killed for his magic. Then, suddenly, to add to that, he’d had the fate of an entire kingdom and the Once and Future King dumped on him.

Eight more years of his life he’d had to live in fear and hide his true nature. Had to fight every foe and save Arthur’s life countless times, each time risking his own life. He spent those years undoing the damage Uther had done, convincing Arthur that magic wasn’t evil. In return, he got two short, sweet years of Albion, the United Magical Five Kingdoms. Then Arthur died at the battle of Camlann as the Great Dragon had warned Merlin all those years ago and Albion died right with him.

Merlin watched as the peace he’d brought crumbled, as the druids died out and everyone he knew and loved withered away as he remained unchanging.

“No”, he thought fiercely. He wasn’t going to let that happen to Harry. He was going to protect that child – and every other child in this school, for that matter – with every fiber of his being. Harry would never have to be alone the way he had been and still was. Would never have to rely solely on himself. Hell, if it came to it, Merlin would shove a sword into the kid’s hand and then direct said hand and sword straight into the slimy corpse. It would still technically be Harry doing the killing after all.

“- Professor? Professor! Merlin’s tits, I think he’s gone catatonic,” Ron said.

Merlin snapped back to attention.

“Merlin’s what now? What- why- “

“You zoned out for like five minutes, Magorian,” Harry said worriedly.

“Oh, oops. Nothing serious. I believe we have about ten more minutes of class. Any questions?”

Merlin watched with bemusement as nearly every hand shot into the air.

He smiled.


	8. In Which The Plot Begins To Thicken

Merlin was just on his way down to dinner when he caught sight of him.

“Gilderoy! So glad I caught you, I’d like to have a private word, if you please? My office is just behind me,” he asked pleasantly.

“Why of course, young man,” Lockhart replied.

By his tone, Merlin guessed he was expecting Merlin to ask for an autograph. Oh, did he have another thing coming.

Merlin graciously opened the door and gestured for Lockhart to precede him, before following and shutting the door behind them. As his back was turned, Merlin silently spelled the door locked and soundproofed the room.

“I must say, I don’t have a pen on me, so if you could provide- “

“Actually,” Merlin interrupted loudly, “I wanted to talk to you about your lesson with the second years today.”

Lockhart blanched slightly before the usual arrogance was back in place.

“Looking for some pointers, eh? Well, I’ll gladly tell you of my exploits in- “

“Specifically, your reckless and irresponsible endangerment of the students,” Merlin said.

Lockhart gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing in bewilderment.

“My- what- surely, young man, what you’ve heard is an exaggeration,” he countered placatingly.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“So, you didn’t set a cage of Cornish Pixies loose on the students without prior instruction and then fled the scene?” Merlin asked bluntly.

“Fled? Why, that is preposterous! I, erm, I simply thought that a practical demonstration would be the best method to teach the young students, you see. Quite an effective method.”

“That’s not what I heard. In any case, it is unacceptable that you left your students to deal with dangerous creatures by themselves. Young Neville Longbottom was hung on the chandelier, and Pansy Parkinson- “

Lockhart cut him off.

“Well, you can hardly blame me for the boy’s failings! Longbottom is inordinately clumsy!” the pompous twit exclaimed, slight irritation bleeding into his tone.

That was the last straw.

“It wasn’t clumsiness that led him to be hauled by his ears to the ceiling! If you’d actually done your job- “ Merlin started hotly.

“Young man! What authority does someone like _you_ have to question my teaching methods? You are no one! How dare you imply such a thing? I’ve seen things and bested creatures you couldn’t dare to imagine! I can’t help that the Longbottom boy is a walking disaster!” he exclaimed angrily, dropping all pretense.

Fury swelled in Merlin’s chest and suddenly, he felt the oppressive weight of his magic fighting to be unleashed. The room vibrated, the pressure rising steadily. His skin buzzed with anticipation.

Gilderoy’s eyes bugged, but he was unable to speak through the oppressive force flooding the room. Merlin’s eyes flashed.

“You listen very closely, you arrogant twit. I know everyone else has fallen for your stupid, fraudulent act, but you don’t fool me. I know exactly that you won’t be able to teach these students anything useful and I can accept that for now. But if I catch wind that you’re endangering any students, I will not be pleased. You do not want that. When I am displeased, I am far less inclined to control myself. Do we have an understanding?” he asked, smile venomous.

Gilderoy gulped and Merlin dropped the magic. Gilderoy gasped, nodded, and hurriedly made for the door.

“Oh, and Gilderoy?” he asked sweetly.

“I- y-yes?” he gasped.

“His name is Neville. He is a very kind and intelligent child that is currently under my protection. You would do well to remember this in the future.”

Lockhart nodded, wide eyed.

“Oh, and just as a quick warning – we wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves by insinuating that a hapless, young fledgling of a teacher with no remarkable talents would threaten an esteemed colleague like yourself, would we?” Merlin asked innocently.

“No! No- of- of course not!” the man rambled.

“Good, I’m off to dinner then. I heard they’re serving curry that’s absolutely to die for.”

And with that, Merlin left the room and skipped down the corridor, whistling and leaving behind one very confused Gilderoy Lockhart.

Well, Merlin would call that a job well done.

***

Merlin definitely wasn’t immensely smug that his quarters were on the first-floor corridor and he thus had to take the least amount of stairs. It also made for some much easier sneaking. He wasn’t exactly sure if there was a curfew for the teachers, but he would still prefer not to be seen. The moment Dumbledore had mentioned the Forbidden Forest Merlin had decided that he was going to explore it. Thoroughly.

There wasn’t many a creature that didn’t like Merlin these days. Sometimes he only had to sit in one deserted spot for long enough and would find himself surrounded by Unicorns and Hippogriffs and all other sorts. At first, it was a little bewildering. Now he found it comforting. No matter how isolated he might feel in the human world, he would always have this.

His magic kept growing exponentially over the centuries. It was like the goddess simply didn’t know where else to put all that lost magic. That was, until the wizards came. Their form of magic was different. It didn’t draw from the magic of the earth and of the universe, but from the magic within. It was a concept Merlin sometimes struggled to understand. It was also why Merlin had such problems getting used to wands. Why would he need something to channel his magic when he himself was the channel already? What would a glorified piece of wood do that he couldn’t do with his hands?

Salazar and the others had been the ones to teach him how to use New Magic. Teach him how to focus the magic from within and only from within and use it to cast modern spells. The force of it had ended in the explosion of many wands, until one day Salazar had come up to him, grinning from ear to ear, with the one he still used now.

(More than anything Merlin treasured it because it had been a gift from Salazar. The day Salazar gave it to him was the day Merlin realized that Salazar truly loved him back. He’d never been very good with words of affection and great romantic gestures but in that moment his message was loud and clear; _I made this for you because I love you.)_

Something about the combination of the wood and Kilgharrah’s scale had been able to stabilize everything. Of course, he still much preferred Old Magic. It was, after all, who he was. Nothing really compared to it. But it was also useful to know this magic, if he was trying to live in the wizarding world or heal magical diseases. For his remedies he often needed poultices or salves in combination with magic; new magic more often than not had a specific spell that could fix the problem faster.

In any case, he’d only been here for about six weeks now and he’d spent every single night exploring the ins and outs of the forest. The forest had grown so much since the last time he’d seen it that he was pretty sure he still hadn’t discovered every hidden corner and its residents. Merlin had already made friends with two separate colonies of bowtruckles, a centaur herd, a herd of Thestrals and an errant Hippogriff. He’d also come across a few different gnomes, but they seemed entirely uninterested in conversation.

Merlin found he could communicate with them in their language, but also on occasion through a mental link. To be fair, the mental links with the Thestrals and hippogriff were more his work than anything and he mostly only got impressions and emotions, but it was still better than nothing. But one of the centaurs, Firenze, had set up a link with him through which they could communicate throughout the entire forest.

It still wasn’t quite the same as being able to talk with the more powerful druids over hundreds of miles, but Merlin would take whatever he could get.

Over the years, he’d become quite adept at stealth, no matter what Arthur accused. Merlin silently made his way through the trees, blending in as if he belonged there. He loved how he felt here. It was one of few truly untouched magical forests and something in him came alive. He felt suddenly untouched by the years.

As if he was once again a hopeful, naïve young man traipsing through the forest at Arthur’s side, following him blindly into the Valley of Kings even though he _told_ Arthur it was a bad idea. If he concentrated, he could almost hear Arthur’s petulant retort that it was “the only way, no bandits are crazy enough to follow us in here”.

As it had turned out, there were apparently quite a few bandits crazy enough.

Merlin heard the loud crack of apparition somewhere to his left and immediately whipped around, hands raised.

Dumbledore had assured him that the Anti-Apparition wards encompassed all of Hogwarts, including the forest. Who the hell had managed to break through them?

He heard a small squeak of fear and lowered his hands slightly, glancing don at the culprit.

“I is so sorry, Lord Emrys! I is not wanting to scare you.”

Merlin blinked in complete bewilderment at the small mountain elf in front of him. He had big, bulging green eyes and wore what looked suspiciously like a tea towel. For some reason, Merlin felt as though he’d met him before.

He lowered his hands.

“It’s alright. I just didn’t know there were any mountain elves in this forest. What brings you here?” he asked curiously.

“The Lord must protect Master Harry Potter, sir! There be a plot, a terrible plot, and Harry Potter be in danger!” the elf insisted, shaking vigorously.

“A plot?” he asked, brow wrinkling in confusion.

“What sort of plot? Is someone planning to harm Harry?”

“Dobby cannot say, Lord. Dobby has sworn. Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts, it isn’t safe, now that history is to repeat itself!” he squeaked.

“I- I don’t understand. What prevents you from telling me?” Merlin urged, taking a step towards the elf in concern.

“Oooohhh, Dobby has says too much!” he wailed.

“Dobby will pay dearly for this if the Master ever finds out!”

“Wait, Dobby. Maybe I can help, who’s your-?” Merlin started.

“The Lord cannot help; Dobby is bound. He musts go and protects the Harry Potter, please Lord!”

“I… of course, I’ll protect him, Dobby.”

The elf lunged at him and sobbed gratefully into his cloak.

“Oh, thank yous! Thank yous, Lord Emrys!” he sobbed.

Then, without warning, the elf disappeared with a crack.

“Drat,” Merlin said, turning back towards the castle.

It looked like he had some wards to renew. He couldn’t have random elves and werewolves and other fellow magical creatures just pop in at any point. Then again, then Merlin himself also wouldn’t be able to appear at school, and his protection of the students was vital.

Damnit. He supposed he would just have to content himself with renewing all muggle repelling wards and making sure no unauthorized wizards could just wander through the gates.

As he closed his eyes and felt the magic of Hogwarts, he noticed several things.

The wards had weakened or even crumbled in places, especially around the forest. And there seemed to be strange, malevolent magics woven into several places. With a push, he crushed them and reinvigorated the original protections. He would need to visit the four magical cornerstones and perhaps add some protective runes to them.

Now that Merlin thought about it, it was rather concerning that no one could apparate out of Hogwarts. He could see the appeal in not wanting to let anyone in but surely, if the castle were under attack, there should be a way for the students to escape?

Hogwarts had been attacked several times in her early days, and though she had never fallen, that didn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t in the future. Perhaps he should bring it up to the headmaster. And if the headmaster didn’t listen, well, Merlin would probably do it anyway if he felt the need.

That wasn’t his main problem at the moment, though. The elf had seemed downright terrified when he told Merlin of “the plot” and seemed to fear some sort of retribution from his Master. What Master? And what did Dobby mean when he spoke of history repeating itself? One thing was for certain though; Harry really was in danger and Merlin would be damned before anything happened to the child.

He briefly considered just calling on the whirlwinds to get back to his chambers, maybe check on Harry, but his inner Gaius scolded him.

_What have I told you about using your magic irresponsibly, Merlin?_

Ughhhh, fine. He really was too old for all this traipsing about. Yes, only his mind was one thousand four hundred and seventy-one, but that had to count for something, right? Apparently, it didn’t, at least not to minnie Gaius.

So, he started the long trek back to the castle.


	9. In Which Merlin Discovers the Joys of Pureblood Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, when he wandered down to the Quidditch Pitch, toast stuffed into his mouth, to make sure Wood wasn’t killing Harry with his almost obsessive training schedule, and instead found himself opposite a tearful Hermione and a visibly green Draco – well.
> 
> Let’s say he wasn’t amused.

Instead of getting a long, restful night’s sleep like he probably should have, Merlin spent the remainder of his night reading. He might be clumsy and impulsive, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the value in gathering as much information as possible to prepare for the time to come.

After reading up quite a bit on all sorts of modern wizarding history and the current Ministry of Magic (which had been so infuriating, with its general corruption and bigoted regulations that Merlin contemplated tearing his hair out), he turned to a new project.

His latest venture had been into some rather unpleasant books on pureblood culture, which he certainly hadn’t gotten his hands on… illicitly… at all… whoops.

While there were quite a few books on pureblood etiquette easily found in your everyday library, these were of a more sensitive nature. The rather shifty man he’d bought them from had subtly hinted at the fact that Merlin perhaps should not let on where or how he’d gotten them, as purebloods tended to… frown upon what they’d perceive as a breach of security.

These were the sort of old tomes that were handed down exclusively within the family, passing rather morally dubious wisdom from generation to generation.

Merlin had lived a _very_ long life, so there really wasn’t much that could still surprise or shock him about the extent of cruelty that humans were capable of. While he didn’t recognize the spells themselves, he’d certainly witnessed their effects before. What made his stomach churn wasn’t precisely the contents of the books, but their nature. It was one thing to have helped victims of these spells during his travels; it was another thing entirely to see them written down so nonchalantly, as if it were perfectly alright, nay, _expected_ to intend to cast these on living beings.

Merlin almost couldn’t believe his eyes at all the medieval notions of superiority, and the enforcement of gender roles. He almost laid the book down altogether when the book went into the appalling details of physical punishments, and various curses pertaining to fertility and autonomy. The only reason he didn’t, was a sinking feeling in his gut that he would have to know how to heal the damage if he wanted to be prepared to help his students.

He would have liked to say he had been fairing surprisingly well up until _That Part_ , but that would have been a lie.

After having struggled through an entire chapter based on how to _break in,_ control and punish pureblood heirs to prepare them for their marital lives, well…

Merlin was unashamed to say that he’d barely made it to the bathroom before puking out his guts.

He didn’t know what was worse, the casual section comparing different whipping instruments and their effectiveness, whilst also suggesting discreet spots for such corporeal punishments; or the section dedicated to making pureblood wives more… agreeable to the act of producing an heir.

Waves of disgust rolled over him and he had to close his eyes and force down the renewed nausea he felt even thinking about it. But that was nothing compared to the fury simmering slowly but surely throughout his entire body. If anyone ever tried to lay a hand on his students in this way, well, they’ll find that the results would be rather unpleasant.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin grabbed a new piece of parchment.

_Your fury won’t help anyone right now. Think, you great git, think! Who will you most likely have to look out for?_

With his head slightly clearer, the answer was obvious.

Especially the children of old pureblood families would be exposed to this danger; the ones who prided themselves on their status. Several families popped into mind.

_Greengrass, Nott, Black, Goyle… Malfoy…_

He winced, that was only the start. He wouldn’t rule out that families from other houses such as the Patils or—

His heart stuttered. The Longbottoms.

“Merlin, no. Merlin, control yourself! You have no proof, and you can’t just start attempting to adopt all of the students!” he muttered harshly.

Now he had to figure out how on earth to teach these children, who’d grown up believing this sort of treatment was normal or even justified, that it was everything but. If he wanted them to come to him about these things, too, and not simply academic ventures, he would have to make them realize that something was wrong in the first place. He would have to be extremely careful – it isn’t easy to realize that maybe one’s family has been doing wrong by them. Bluntness would make the children clamp up before he had any chance of reaching them.

It had taken until last week before the students seemed to trust that he wouldn’t tattle on their interests and that it was, indeed, safe to borrow books and ask questions. Perhaps he could eventually persuade them to confide in him regarding family matters?

It was a long shot, but if there was one thing time had taught Merlin, it was patience.

Now, he’d gotten pretty much used to being flooded by the curiosity of teenagers at all times. There was usually at least one student waiting for him after class to shyly request something. Though Merlin was absolutely delighted by this show of curiosity and trust, he was also increasingly exasperated.

Merlin more than understood that not everyone had parents or adult confidantes, but the topics that the students were asking about were so…basic! They were things they would’ve learned about in muggle school years ago. He found himself lending books about basic sciences, about how the wizarding government operated, basic essay structuring, household spells, muggle world wars (which they’d somehow never heard of!), instructions on how to sharpen quills and many other things.

He had even had a handful of shy fifth years cornering him after class, blushing furiously and asking about books on sex education. Fifteen-year-olds! Apparently, the parents of muggleborns simply assumed they’d learn in school and purebloods saw absolutely no reason to educate their children on such things before marriage.

Hogwarts professors simply insisted that these were things to learn outside of school. Ludicrous! Not everyone had parents or the resources to self-educate.

Both the notion that the curriculum was grossly lacking and leaving the students dangerously ignorant, and the certainty that he’d most likely stumble upon quite a few cases of physical abuse among his students, put him, understandably, in quite the foul mood.

So, when he wandered down to the Quidditch Pitch, toast stuffed into his mouth, to make sure Wood wasn’t killing Harry with his almost obsessive training schedule, and instead found himself opposite a tearful Hermione and a visibly green Draco – well.

Let’s say he wasn’t amused.

The cold fury that was surely radiating off of him caused the Pitch to fall silent.

“Colin, explain. Now,” he said shortly.

Colin gave a startled squeak at being called on, but quickly regained his composure.

“Well, Professor -- that is uh Magorian – I was following Harry so I could take pictures of the practice -- I’ve never seen a game of Quidditch before, you see – and then the Slytherins came and they wanted the pitch and then there was some arguing, because they have a new Seeker – Malfoy – and he showed us the new brooms his father got the team and-“ the boy rambled.

“Colin, stop. Take a deep breath,” Merlin reminded him.

He waited until the young boy had calmed slightly.

“Now, what happened after that?” Merlin asked.

“Malfoy was making fun of the Gryffindor brooms and said the Weasleys were too poor to get new ones – Cleansweeps, I think – and Hermione argued that at least the Gryffindors got in on talent and then – then Malfoy called her something, but I don’t really understand what it means… I think it was – was it Mudblood?”

The students were so silent, you could’ve heard a pin drop. Merlin took a very deep breath and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Hermione, would you go up to my office, please? I’ll be there in a minute. Parvati, escort her, would you?” he said.

Hermione sniffled slightly and then nodded, avoiding his gaze and disappearing back into the castle with Parvati.

He rounded on the remaining students.

“Mudblood,” he explained shortly, “is a very foul and demeaning term referring to people born of non-magical parents. It is a term meant to hurt others.”

Colin stared at him, camera lowering.

“Like – like what people say about black people and uh…gay people, sir?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, exactly like that. I suggest you never repeat that word, any of you, or there will be consequences. Racism will not be tolerated.”

His tone was so clipped, some of the students looked genuinely cowed. He supposed he hadn’t lost his temper at any of them before.

“And afterwards?” he asked Colin.

“Well, obviously the Gryffindors weren’t pleased and – Ron hexed Draco to… eat slugs? I think?” Colin rushed out.

This time, Merlin did pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Ron, while provoked, the use of magic against another student is prohibited. Detention, my office, 7pm.”

Ron looked a little mulish, but wisely didn’t speak out.

Merlin turned to leave but stopped short at the Slytherin’s sniggers.

“And Draco?” he called.

“Y-yes?” Draco stammered, caught by surprise.

“I may have lifted the curse that Ronald inflicted on you, but don’t be fooled -- what you said to Hermione is absolutely inexcusable. Detention. Meet me at my office after dinner.”

***

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He’d _never_ seen Magorian that angry before. It was like he turned into a completely different person. It wasn’t like when Uncle Vernon got angry either – he wasn’t red faced and loud or physically imposing.

He’d been completely composed, his voice at the usual volume he spoke with. But there’d been something cold and steely in his gaze, his eyes flashing, his voice sharp. Harry could’ve sworn there was something almost like pressure encompassing them as Magorian spoke. Well…pressure wasn’t the right word to describe it, not really. It was more like an overwhelming presence, like the air itself had been vibrating with it.

He turned to his team in a slight daze. They looked just as shaken as him, and Wood, miracle of miracles, said -

“Come on, let’s go. We’ll train tomorrow, they need to train their…seeker.”

As they turned from the pitch, Harry chanced a small glance at the Slytherins. They were already shaking themselves out of their stupor, mounting their brooms, but Draco stood stock-still. His face conveyed something almost like shame.

Harry hadn’t really been afraid that Magorian would hurt them in any way, but the sudden realization that he was a trained, dangerous magician had abruptly settled itself in the back of his mind. He supposed that perhaps he’d had it all wrong. Maybe there was more to kindly, helpful, bumbling Magorian than he’d originally thought.

He knew what the others sometimes said about Magorian. About how he was a good teacher, but also a bit of a pushover. The rarer, nasty little whispers that nobody with real magical talent would choose to teach History.

Harry knew better. Magorian may have pretended that the barrier hadn’t been a big deal, and yet, none of the adults on the other side had managed to accomplish what he had. Perhaps he’d try and keep a slightly closer eye on his professor. He didn’t really want to believe that his new teacher was up to something, because he found that he quite liked Magorian, but after last year’s disaster with Quirrell – well, no one could blame him for being a little cautious.

***

“Sorry, Hermione, just had to deal with the others for a moment. Parvati, would you mind leaving us?” he asked.

Parvati glanced at Hermione, clearly unsure about leaving her alone in her state. Merlin smiled slightly at the show of loyalty. When Hermione gave Parvati a small, watery nod, she reluctantly left the room.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the kettle started. Milk? Sugar?”

Hermione looked a little forlorn.

Now that he looked at it, his office _was_ rather cluttered. Books littered every available surface; his desk and side table were nearly unrecognizable beneath them. Even the floor was largely taken up by towering piles of old tomes slightly taller than Merlin. The only light came from a small window behind the desk that he’d left carefully free of clutter.

The comfortable, squishy armchair opposite his desk meant for students had a pair of robes haphazardly thrown across it.

Merlin flushed slightly and gave Hermione a sheepish smile.

_Good going, Merlin._

He waived his wand and the desk and armchair cleared, the pile rearranging itself onto his bookshelf, which was already bursting at the seams.

Hermione sank into the armchair gratefully.

“Uhm, just milk, please,” she answered belatedly, face a little splotchy but no longer wet.

Merlin crammed around in the compartment of his desk and got out a rather mismatched tea set. He was pretty sure that most items were from entirely different centuries.

He quietly fixed them both a cup of tea and then handed Hermione hers, before taking a sip himself. Hermione was studying his office curiously, trying to avoid his gaze.

“I myself am a Muggleborn,” Merlin stated quietly.

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What Draco said to you today is in no way excusable. It would be easy to tell you to just ignore what he said, but I know that this sort of thing, no matter how much better you should know, leaves its mark,” he smiled at her sadly.

“Professor?” she questioned.

“France isn’t devoid of racism, Hermione.”

She frowned at him slightly.

“Growing up, I heard a lot of the same language directed at me. And though I knew that they were statements made out of ignorance, I couldn’t help but feel…lesser,” he admitted.

_Freak! Sorcerer! Monster!_

Hermione was quiet for a moment.

“How did you—how did you overcome that?” she asked quietly.

He smiled.

“I realized that even if they were right, and my magic was somehow inferior, it didn’t matter.”

She blinked at him in confusion, tugging at a strand of bushy hair.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Because I knew that I was a good person, and that was far more important to me than appearing powerful. I wouldn’t have traded with those people for all the power in the world because I knew that they were not kind people, that they didn’t care about goodness or the wellbeing of others. All they cared for was their self-declared superiority. If that was what power meant, then I didn’t want it.”

The room was still for a moment.

Hermione finally met his gaze, as though gauging how sincere he was. She appeared to be deep in thought for a moment.

Before she could say anything, he added“Though, to let you in on a little secret: they’re wrong. I may not come from an old and powerful family, but I was born with a gift of sorts.”

That had clearly piqued her interest.

“What sort of gift?” she asked eagerly.

“I can sense people’s magic. The feel and the strength. Sometimes, I can discern what sort of magic you’re best suited to. Only from a short distance though, mind you; it’s easier if I touch the person,” he explained.

Hermione stared at him in amazement, clearly bursting to ask questions.

“Could you—I mean, would you--?” she asked.

Merlin smiled at her.

“Of course, may I?” he asked, gesturing to her free hand.

She immediately shot her hand out at him and he suppressed a chuckle.

He gently took her hand and closed his eyes, reaching out carefully with his magic to feel the cool flow of hers. If it had a color, he would describe it as a light blue. Merlin shivered with renewed energy.

Certain that the last sparks had faded from his eyes, he released her hand and looked at her.

“And?” she fretted.

“It is quite beautiful. It reminds me of a spring, actually. Like a cool, steady trickle of water. Quite invigorating.”

She seemed a little uncertain.

“Is that a good thing?” she asked.

“Of course! Just because it’s not something big and ostentatious doesn’t mean it isn’t powerful. I’d say you are remarkably powerful, actually. Your magic is very pleasant. Steady and strong, with a talent for Charms and Arithmancy.”

Hermione beamed at him; all tears long forgotten.

“That’s fascinating! What about yours? Or Harry and Ron’s?” she asked excitedly.

He felt a fond smile form on his face. She reminded him slightly of Gwen, and not only because of their physical similarities.

“Harry’s is more akin to a thunderstorm. Charged and dangerous, with potential for violence, but also for life. It’s more of a grey, more chaotic in nature. Very powerful indeed. More similar to yours than to Ron’s. Leaning more towards Potions and defensive magic.”

“Ron’s magic,” he continued, “it’s… it’s difficult to describe. It has more warmth to it, feels more grounded. It reminds me of fresh earth on a warm day. Solid, unshakeable, with a golden-brown feel to it. Also powerful, with a talent for divination and changing magicks—”

“Changing magicks?” Hermione cut in, highly interested.

“Transfiguration, but in all its forms. Animorphmagic, Metamorphmagic and so on,” he explained shortly.

“Ron’s a metamorphmagus?” she asked doubtfully.

“A common misconception is that one can only be a metamorphmagus by birth. But as the name implies, it is simply another form of magic. Though it is true that it is a rather difficult skill to learn, he definitely has the potential, should he apply himself.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know one could learn Metamorphmagic! Do you have any books on the subject that I could give to Ronald?” she asked, clearly meaning _force him to study_ rather than _helpfully suggest it to him._

“Certainly, I can give them to you before you head back.”

She smiled. “I would like that. Are there any other common misconceptions like that? Magic that you can learn even though it’s claimed to be innate?” she asked.

“Well, I’d say that the only magic that you can’t learn, even if you apply yourself to it, is Divination. It’s of course useful to know of it and of the different methods, but unless you have some sort of spark, you won’t be able to divine anything,” Merlin explained.

Hermione seemed a little baffled by that.

“Every magic other than that?” she asked with disbelief.

“Yes.”

Merlin stood and collected a few books, some about Changing Magicks and some about Magical Theory, before handing the stack to Hermione.

“Thank you so much, Magorian!” she exclaimed gleefully, already hungrily paging through the first one.

“No problem.”

He watched her turn to leave, already planning his next excursion into the forest to think on Draco and Ron’s detention that night.

“Oh, Magorian?” she asked, having stopped in the door.

“Yes, Hermione?” he asked curiously.

“You never answered. About your magic, that is.”

He smiled ruefully.

“That’s the catch. I can discern my magic from others, and I know what it feels like to me, but I can’t read it in the same way.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you again.”

Merlin watched in silence as she exited the office.

 _Smart girl,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm still alive... whoops


	10. In Which Snape Finally Gets A Bit of What's Coming to Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My name,” he growled, “is not Sev. You may refer to me as Professor Snape, though I’d rather you didn’t refer to me at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double chapter to apologize? ':D

By the time 7 o’clock rolled around, Merlin was already waiting behind his desk, barely containing his glee. It had taken him a bit to figure out a suitable task for the two students; he didn’t merely want to settle for physical labor. No, he was going to make the darling little troublemakers _think._ After a good long walk in the forest and some rather dubious advice provided by one of the centaurs, he knew exactly how he was going to accomplish his goal.

Ron was the one to enter first, expression slightly mulish as he slumped himself into his usual seat.

Draco, however, seemed to be dithering in front of the door – no doubt trying to decide if he dared be late for detention, even if it was “merely” the History instructor overseeing it. Merlin watched him with amusement and waited for his decision.

Finally, Draco too entered the classroom, stiffly settling himself at the desk on the so-called “Slytherin” side of the classroom. That is to say, as far away from Ron as possible. Ridiculous, really, but baby steps for now.

“How kind of you two to show up,” Merlin remarked dryly, gaze lingering on Draco in particular, until his ears flushed slightly.

Then the children simply stared at him, resolutely ignoring each other’s presence. Merlin sighed but waited for them to speak first.

“What’s it to be, Professor? Lines?” Draco finally piped up, sneering slightly.

“No,” he replied, watching their faces change from defiant to slightly apprehensive, “we’ll be doing something else.”

“We?” Ron asked, baffled.

“Yes, _we._ I have decided that we’re going to have ourselves a little debate today,” he declared, “I will be the moderator and you will be the debaters.”

“Debaters?”

“Indeed, Ron; it means that you get to argue with each other, as you both seem very eager to do so,” Merlin explained, smiling brightly.

“My detention is that I get to argue with Malfoy?” he asked incredulously.

Draco, too, looked rather suspicious.

“Exactly. Now, I will be handing you a few short texts that all hold arguments for a certain opinion. You are going to collect the arguments and then attempt to convince your opponent that that opinion is correct, thereby winning. Feel free to add your own arguments as well. You have fifteen minutes to prepare,” he said, before opening a book to start reading in.

They continued to stare at him suspiciously for a moment before deciding that he must be serious, as he didn’t acknowledge them further. He wasn’t _really_ reading the book, of course, but instead subtly watching the two as they started taking notes. It didn’t take long before they started scowling.

“Is something wrong?” Merlin asked pleasantly.

“This—this text is rubbish! This man’s arguments make no sense!” Ron blurted, scowling furiously.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do they not make sense, or do you simply disagree? You were not tasked with evaluating the authors’ statements. You were simply asked to note down their arguments and represent their opinion, were you not?”

“Yes, but how are we supposed to argue for an opinion that is _stupid?_ ” Draco asked.

“Thinking their opinion stupid is also an opinion, Draco. It doesn’t matter whether you agree or disagree with them; your job is to convince Ron that the opposing opinion is right and vice versa. The winner,” he stated, “gets to skip one homework of their choosing.”

That got their attention – they were still scowling at him, but he heard no more arguments as they returned to their work. Ron’s scribbling seemed rather more pronounced than before. Ah, bribery, a time-honored tradition.

***

At the fifteen-minute mark, Merlin stood.

“Alright you two, it’s time for your ‘argument’,” he said, before putting three chairs at the front of the classroom, formed like a triangle.

He took the chair closest to the desk, waiting.

Ron and Draco were already glaring daggers at each other as they headed over to their places. When they were seated, Merlin began:

“I will be acting as the moderator of this debate. Draco, you will be representing the advantages of wizard and muggle cooperation and you, Ron, will be presenting the disadvantages. Draco, you may start. What is it that we gain by interacting with the muggle world?”

“There is much to gain from the muggles,” Draco ground out.

“Such as?” Merlin asked helpfully.

“They expand our horizons by sharing new opinions, different cultures and useful inventions with us,” he muttered.

“Ron, what do you say to that?”

“Well, the muggles have always been scared of us and jealous of our power. They muck up our traditions and beliefs,” Ron stated spitefully, “and what good are their inventions if they don’t work around magic, anyway?”

“That was hundreds of years ago, the muggles have long evolved. Their techni—technological advancements put them years ahead of us, too.”

Then Draco began looking rather gleeful as he thought of something else.

“You say they corrupt our traditions and beliefs. But presenting us with alternative cultures and worldviews can’t corrupt our minds unless we _let_ them!”

That was a point not made by the text. Merlin smiled behind his hand.

Ron pointed at Draco accusingly. “But by marrying muggles, we lose our pure blood! Pure blood also means pure magic, mate. That’s why we should keep magic in old families. Because they don’t make magic weak by mixing with non-magicals, and they safeguard the old ways!”

Draco was beginning to look positively smug.

“Actually, many of the most powerful witches and wizards of their generation were half-bloods. Also, muggleborns are believed to get their magic from the Lady Magic, which means that their magic can’t be corrupted, as it’s straight from the source! Furthermore, there aren’t enough purebloods _left_ to produce pureblooded children without resorting to incest.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, clearly starting to run out of prewritten arguments, but also unwilling to let Draco win.

“Pureblood children are smarter than children from muggle households because they have lessons before school, and now secret magicks passed through the family. Because they’re smarter and understand our world better, they should be the ones leading the Ministry, not Muggles!”

“Muggles also have a school for educating their children before Hogwarts, and if Hogwarts simply provided tutors or took a few weeks before the start of term to teach classes on the Wizarding World to those from non-magical households – problem solved,” Draco countered immediately.

Ron floundered for a moment.

“Well—they—muggles don’t have magic! That makes them less than us, so why should we care about what they think and do?” he blurted.

“Because, despite their lack of magic, they’ve somehow managed to keep up-“

“Aaaaand time is up!” Merlin declared, not liking the way the two students were glaring at each other.

“I—what?” Draco spluttered; the winds taken from his sails.

“You two need to get to bed before curfew. Draco, congratulations, you’ve won the debate.”

Draco smirked, clearly preparing to gloat at Ron the moment they left the classroom.

“You have successfully argued for the cooperation between the magical and non-magical people,” he added.

The reminder of that little fact made Draco’s expression immediately sour a bit.

Merlin regarded the two of them. Ron looked as though he hadn’t really expected to win anyway and was smirking at Draco for having been tricked. Draco, however, was scowling a bit, gaze unfocused.

 _Thinking,_ Merlin thought triumphantly.

“You may leave, Ron. Draco, stay for a moment.”

Ron exited the classroom far faster and far more enthusiastically than he had entered it. Merlin chuckled.

“Draco, on the matter of what you said to Miss Granger…”

“Yes?” Draco asked, not quite meeting his eye.

“Do you understand why I gave you detention for what you said?” Merlin looked at him, trying to show that he was genuinely asking.

“Because I insulted Granger,” he muttered. His gaze still hadn’t moved from his feet.

“Partially, but if you had simply called her an idiot, I would have merely reprimanded you. Do you know why your particular insult was different?”

Draco finally met his gaze, looking slightly puzzled.

“I… because you don’t think there’s any such thing as a mu—as accidental magical talent?”

“Indeed, I don’t think there is, but that’s not the real reason.”

“Because it is not true, then?” he tried.

“No. Calling her an idiot also would not be true, as Hermione is quite intelligent.”

Draco seemed to be lost now.

“I don’t know.”

“Because,” he explained, “that word is not a simple insult, but a slur. That means that you are not merely insulting an aspect of her personality, but dehumanizing her entirely. You are reducing her to the single aspect of her magical heritage and belittling that heritage to boot. You are no longer insulting her personally, but her and everyone like her based on something she has no control over.”

“I—I’m not certain I understand,” Draco replied haltingly.

“Take time to think on what I’ve told you, and you will. Dismissed.”

***

The next morning, Harry was sitting at breakfast, blearily pushing about the contents of his plate. He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink after he had heard that terrible voice.

“Something wrong, mate?” Ron asked him, voice laced with concern.

“No, nothing, I just couldn’t sleep,” he answered, trying to sound reassuring.

Harry felt rather apprehensive about telling his friends what he’d heard. He didn’t want to worry them, especially as he wasn’t even sure if it had really happened or whether it was a product of his sleep addled mind. Maybe he could ask Magorian later…

Harry paused, surprised. Even though he knew that Magorian was hiding something, he found himself trusting the Professor. When had that happened?

 _Maybe it’s because he answers your questions, instead of telling you not to worry about it,_ he thought bitterly.

He glanced up at the teachers’ table. Magorian seemed to be enthusiastically conversing at Snape, who looked even more harassed than usual and was resolutely ignoring his seat mate. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh, as it was rather entertaining to see that scowl directed at someone who was unfazed by it.

He resolved to talk to his friends, and maybe Magorian, if he heard the voice again.

***

Merlin discovered, to his absolute delight, that one Severus Snape usually went to breakfast at around the same time as him, and due to a problem with the back passage, now also had to take the same route to the Great Hall.

Oh, he had heard a lot about the infamous Potions teacher. Especially regarding how he treated those of his students that weren’t green-clad. The man generally had a rather sour disposition, electing to largely ignore Merlin’s existence and avoid any socializing outside of what was absolutely necessary. Most importantly, he seemed to have singled out one Neville Longbottom as his latest victim.

Not on his watch.

Despite this unacceptable behavior and his perpetual bitterness, Merlin had the infuriating feeling that Snape wasn’t all that bad a person (or wasn’t, in actuality, all that bad a person). That made his bullying ways more confusing and annoying. Alas, Merlin was going to make the fool suffer.

“Hiyas Sev, sleep well?” he asked cheerfully, lengthening his stride to keep up with the man.

Snape stopped short, glowering.

“My name,” he growled, “is not _Sev._ You may refer to me as _Professor Snape,_ though I’d rather you didn’t refer to me at all.”

“I’ll take that as a no. Perhaps a good meal and a cup of tea will improve your mood, Sev,” Merlin suggested cheerfully.

“I _told you_ not to call me that!”

“Well what else am I supposed to call you? Rus? Snape-y? Wow okay, no, definitely not that second one, that’s just weird.”

As Merlin talked, Severus’ fury seemed to rise exponentially. Once he realized that Merlin wouldn’t stop, he settled for ignoring him, probably counting on being able to escape once he reached his seat at the teachers’ table.

As if.

Merlin followed him, sitting down in the vacant seat immediately to Severus’ left.

“What,” he hissed, “do you think you’re doing.”

“Having breakfast, Sev. I thought that was rather obvious,” Merlin replied, spooning some eggs onto his plate.

He could hear Snape grinding his teeth together.

“Yes, but _why_ are you doing such _over here?_ Your seat is next to that halfwit’s over there.”

Merlin feigned confusion. “Halfwit? That’s a rather drastic way to refer to Professor Flitwick. Whatever has he done to offend you?”

“I meant Hagrid, you ingrate, as you well know—never mind, you didn’t answer my question,” Snape pressed.

“I’m having breakfast over here so that I can spend it with my new friend, obviously. There isn’t actually a seating chart for the teachers, and I know for a fact that Professor Trelawney never joins us for meals. So, no harm done in changing seats.”

“ _Friend?_ ” Snape spat incredulously, “I am _not_ your friend, and if you don’t stop referring to me as Sev and remove yourself immediately, I _will_ poison you in a way that never traces back to me.”

“Go ahead,” Merlin replied cheerfully.

“I—what?”

“I said,” Merlin repeated slowly and exaggeratedly, “ _go ahead_.”

Snape glared, evidently not having expected that response.

“You will regret this,” he threatened.

Merlin leaned closer to him, smile turning sharp at the edges.

“Oh, no, I rather think that _you_ will regret this, Sev. Because you were right about one thing -- we are not friends. I don’t consider grown men who bully children to cope with their own misery my friends. In fact, I would consider anyone who harmed my students, whether it be mentally or physically, to be my enemy.”

Snape seemed to truly be in a temper now.

“If you are referring to Longbottom, that child has shown nothing but incompetence and a disregard for written instruction in my classroom from day one. I do not _bully_ children; it is not my fault that those little imbeciles refuse to be taught and then can’t handle the consequences.”

Merlin, too, was starting to get truly angry, but kept his demeanor calm.

“So, belittling them to the point that they leave your lessons _in tears_ is not bullying? Making every student, no matter how talented or invested in your subject, feel that their work and effort is inferior if they don’t wear green isn’t bullying? How very interesting, how so many children ‘refuse to be taught’ your subject only but show great curiosity in other classes. I’m sure it has nothing to do with your teaching at all,” Merlin finished, daring Snape to rise to the bait.

“My teaching is none of your concern,” Snape said venomously. “And I would have thought someone as _clever_ as you would have noticed by now that no one else seems inclined to protect my Slytherins.”

“Protecting them and enabling them to behave in a foul manner are two very different things, Sev. Giving them a pass no matter the quality of their work helps no one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have children to teach.”


End file.
